


Begin Again

by Ringlee



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Sex, F/M, Friendship, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Original Character(s), RDR2, Slow Burn, Swearing, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Western, arthur is sweet, john is so damn hot, o'driscoll - Freeform, those scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21987547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringlee/pseuds/Ringlee
Summary: Ellie Barton is a doctor’s daughter and knows nothing of the lives of outlaws. Until she falls in with Dutch Van der Linde’s gang and finds herself making friends with gunslingers and dreaming about John Marston. Eventual spoilers for RDR2.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Original Female Character(s), John Marston & Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

“So I says to him, this train is gonna be full to the brim, Colm. Full to the god-damn brim,” said a voice outside the tent. She knew this voice. It was Thomas, the big one with the black beard. 

“I says, all we gotta do is hole up by the gorge there by the creek. We cover the tracks with somethin’... brush, trees, a wagon maybe. They got to slow down and then we hit ‘em with everything we got!” Thomas finished, satisfaction in his voice. She could smell cigarette smoke as she watched his shadow moving across the tent wall.

“That’s what you told, Colm, huh?” said another voice, one she didn’t know. She adjusted her arms as best she could, the rope cutting into her wrists. Her shoulders and thighs burned from being tied up for so long. That first night they had tied her to a tree, but after several escape attempts, they’d elected to keep her in the tent instead. They had removed the gag, as she had long since given up screaming for help. She pressed her face against the dirt ground, whimpering from the pain.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. And we gonna do it, too.” Thomas’s voice faded out. She heard something about Valentine and riding hard. Then his voice came back more clearly. “That’s what Sampson told me anyway and he ain’t never steered me wrong before. Army payday, boys. We will be stinkin’ rich!” 

There was laughter and the voices moved away. She moaned into the ground. She was so thirsty. She licked her lips and they felt like gravel against her tongue. She tasted the dried blood on them, a reminder of yesterday’s punishment. She had tried to flee when they took her out to relieve herself. It had not been a wise choice. Since then, they had just let her sit in her own filth. She closed her eyes and faded from consciousness. 

*******************************************

Something awoke her. She moved her wrists and arms as much as she could, her shoulders on fire. She heard a few voices shouting. She couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded urgent, excited. She could pick out Thomas’s voice. He was the leader, best as she could tell, or at least the leader until this “Colm” person they kept talking about showed up. The voices faded as they moved away from the tent. 

The minutes passed by. She wondered what had happened. More people abducted, robbed? The men were animals. They had stripped her down to her corset and bloomers that first night, and burned her other clothes right in front of her. She had been desperate, certain they were going to rape her, kill her. So she had blurted out the only thing she could think of, told them that she could help them, that she worked in a doctor’s office, knew about medicine and such. 

At first they had laughed at her, but after awhile someone must have decided it was worth considering. From what she could gather, they wanted to keep her until this Colm person showed up and let him decide. She had a feeling it was the only thing stopping them from raping her or worse. Not that they were treating her well. She had been in the camp for three days and every night they dragged her out to the campfire and made her parade around in her undergarments while they hooted and hollered at her, making lewd suggestions and grabbing at her body. Any time she balked or refused to comply with their demands to keep marching, they shoved her down into the mud and horseshit and kicked at her. 

Suddenly, a barrage of gunshots boomed outside, echoing violently in the still night. She froze, listening. She could hear more shouting. The gunfire continued, incessant. Her heart was pounding… what was happening? Was it the law? Had they come to rescue her? The gunshots continued for what seemed like forever, then died just as suddenly as they had begun. She strained to hear something, anything. There were voices, but she couldn’t make them out. Was it the sheriff? Pinkertons? 

The flap of the tent flipped open and a skinny man entered. A stone dropped in her stomach. Although she didn’t know his name, she knew his face from around the campfire. In her mind she had been calling him Red Hair on account of his wiry copper hair and beard. “Your services are needed, _doctor._ ” The last word came out dripping with sarcasm as he smirked at her. He cut her feet loose and hauled her up. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her. He dragged her out of the tent, then picked up her father’s medical bag from a nearby wagon. 

As they moved toward the center of camp, she began to make out figures in the darkness. There was Thomas, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. He was laughing and muttering to himself. There were two other men standing on either side of him, their guns drawn. In front of them were three men on their knees, hands tied behind their backs, mouths gagged with handkerchiefs. She glanced around, but could only see the shapes of tents and wagons in the darkness. She had counted 15 men around the campfire that first night. Where were the others?

Thomas moved back and forth in front of the bound men. “I’ll be god-damned. I’ll be _god-damned_ ,” he said, still laughing. The man kneeling on the right was slumped forward, moaning pitifully, blood leaking from a wound on his arm. The man in the middle had black hair slicked back from his forehead. His nose was bleeding but he glared defiantly at Thomas, kneeling with his chin up and his shoulders back. The man on the left also watched Thomas carefully. His greasy black hair covered most of his face, but did not conceal the angry scars across it. It was clear from this distance… these were not law men. These were gunslingers. 

Thomas stopped pacing and faced the man in the middle. A smile spread across his face. “Can you believe this boys? Dutch Van der Linde… in my camp.” Thomas laughed heartily. “ _And_ his two dogs. Colm is gonna be happier than a pig in shit, boys! Happier than a pig in shit!” The man in the middle was trying to say something through the gag.

“What’s that, Dutch?” Thomas leaned forward and comically put his hand on his ear. “Can’t quite hear you. You gotta speak up.” He started laughing again. “The famous Dutch Van der Linde, tied up in my camp _and_ tongue tied.” The two men on either side of Thomas started laughing, too. One of them shot his gun into the air triumphantly. 

“And this dog,” he said, sauntering over to the man who was bleeding. “Damn, you boys got sloppy. You gone and got yourself shot!” 

She felt Red Hair shove her forward. “Here she is, boss,” he said as he stood her in front of Thomas. Thomas turned to her and smirked before dragging her over to the man who was bleeding. Then he forced her down. She heard the whisper of a blade on leather and her arms were free. 

“Fix him,” Thomas commanded, nodding toward the man. “I want this mutt alive when Colm gets here.” 

She leaned forward tentatively, looking at the man. His blue eyes were squinting against the pain. His face was lined and rough, and she could smell cigarette smoke and gunpowder on him. “I’ll need to remove his coat and shirt,” she said, glancing over at Thomas.

Thomas grunted at Red Hair. “Cut it off him,” he said. “We ain’t untying that bastard for shit.” Red Hair came forward and dropped her father’s medical bag next to her. He pulled his knife and cut through the sleeves of the man’s jacket and shirt, yanking them down roughly and exposing the skin of his shoulder. She leaned forward and examined the wound. There was a lot of blood, and no towels. She ripped off a piece of the man’s torn shirt sleeve to wipe away the blood as best she could. As she worked, she could hear Thomas continuing his diatribe behind her. 

“All these years, Dutch. All these years. And _I’m_ the one to finally get you! Oh, you just wait - Colm is gonna torture the shit out of ya’ll!” 

She continued to examine the wound, realizing it was a lot less serious than it looked. In fact, once she wiped away enough blood, she could see the bullet had only grazed him. A deep graze, to be sure, but there was no bullet in his body. The bleeding seemed to have mostly stopped. She sat back on her heels and looked at the man. He quickly averted his eyes from hers, looking down and letting out a painful groan. Her hand moved up to check his pulse; his neck was thick and muscular, the skin weather-worn. Her fingers found the beat quickly; it was strong and sure. She had a sneaking suspicion this man was putting on an act.

A cascade of thoughts surged through her mind. Should she rat this man out to Thomas? Keep her mouth shut? She was terrified of what Thomas might do to her. This could be her way out. But these men looked to be more of the same. Helping them could cost her dearly. She rummaged around in her father’s bag as her thoughts raced. 

“What’s the verdict, woman?” Thomas asked as he came over. She quickly put the piece of the man’s shirt over the wound, making as though she was trying to stem the flow of blood.

“It will take me some time. Do you have something to give him for the pain? whisky?”

Thomas laughed heartily, his head rolling back. Suddenly, he kicked the man in the stomach. The man doubled over, coughing through the gag. She struggled to move with him, keeping the wound covered. “I ain’t got shit for the pain,” Thomas spat as he walked away, turning his attention back to the man in the middle.

Her father’s face flashed in front of her, the look on it as the men had gathered around, kicking him. She retrieved the forceps from the bag, discreetly grabbing the scalpel in the process. She slid it up along her wrist so it was hidden from view. “I just need to check your lungs,” she said to the man. She glanced around as she opened his coat and lowered her head toward his chest. The two men by the fire were watching Thomas as he taunted the man kneeling in the middle. But Red Hair had his eyes on her. She put her ear to the man’s chest, pretending to listen.

Thomas was walking over to the third kneeling man, shaking his fist at him. “And you… what the hell happened to you? Dutch, where do you find these boys? This one’s uglier than a sack of assholes!” He punched the scarred man in the side of the head, then whistled as he watched the man fall over to his side and struggle to right himself.

She fought to focus on the task before her. “That sounds good, now I”ll listen from the back,” she murmured to the man before her, and she repositioned herself to his side. She held her head against his back and asked him to breathe, then deftly slipped the handle of the scalpel into the man’s tied hands. She moved back to the front of him, her heart pounding wildly, and began tearing the man’s shredded shirt sleeve into a makeshift bandage. She wrapped the shirt pieces around the wound, covering it from view. As she did, she could feel his arm moving back and forth, almost imperceptibly. She could also feel his eyes on her face, but she didn’t dare look at him. She stood up. “Well, without something to dull the pain, this is all I can do for now,” she said loudly.

Thomas had been jawing at the man in the middle again; he stopped short at her announcement. “What the hell do you mean?” Thomas asked. “You ain’t done nothin’.” He walked over to her and stood in front of her. “You know, I think you’re a lyin’ sack of shit, woman. Knows how to doctor, my ass!” He grabbed her roughly and brought her to the center of the group. 

“I know what I’m doing!” she said hotly, wrenching her arm away from him. “If I’m going to do more, he needs his pain managed. There’s no clean way to remove that bullet if he starts squirming around.” Thomas backhanded her across the face; she stumbled backward and tripped, falling to the ground. A hot ache radiated from her check over the side of her face. She tasted fresh blood.

“You know, I’m gettin’ tired of this shit. And I’m tired of waitin’ on Colm. I think we’re just gonna take care of this now.” He was standing over her, an evil smile on his face. Through a daze, she could hear one of the kneeling men grunting something through his gag. “What’s that, boys?” Thomas laughed. “Oh, you don’t like me assaultin’ the little lady? Well, get ready, because there’s gonna be a lot more than that!” He pulled her up roughly and she stumbled against him, her head swirling. He dragged her away from the campfire, back behind one of the wagons. “Jake, keep an eye on them,” he yelled over his shoulder. The other two men followed Thomas, eager to watch. He threw her down in the mud and stood over her, his fingers working at his belt buckle. “What do you think, boys,” he laughed as he leered down at her. “Ya’ll gonna have a go when I’m done?” The other two men moved closer. One glanced quickly at Thomas. 

“I thought we was leavin’ her for Colm, boss.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired of waitin,” Thomas replied. “And we just got Colm the grand prize - Dutch and two of his top mutts. So I don’t think ol’ Colm will mind too much if we take a little taste.” He knelt down on top of her, knees on either side of her hips. She moved to get up and he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her down. The back of her head bounced against the hard ground and her vision momentarily blurred. Thomas was holding her down with one hand, struggling with his pants with the other. Suddenly, three shots rang out in quick succession. She looked up at Thomas, who looked down at her with his eyebrows raised. Blood trickled from his mouth and he fell forward on top of her. 

“You all right, miss?” a deep voice asked, as Thomas’s body was pulled off of her. It was the man with the fake bullet wound. He offered her his hand. She looked at him, unsure. “It’s all right, miss. They’re all dead now. We’ll get you outta here.” She was frozen with fear, wondering if she had just made a huge mistake. She noticed the other two men walking up.

“She’s scared stiff, Arthur,” said the man with the slicked-back hair. “Look, miss,” he said as he knelt down beside her. “My name’s Dutch Van der Linde. This fine man here is Arthur Morgan and that,” he jerked his finger back toward the scarred man, “is John Marston. We’re not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”

Her eyes moved between the men in rapid succession, her breath frozen in her chest. She couldn’t see what choice she had. She could go along, maybe try to escape when they left this place. “I’m Ellie Barton,” she said slowly. 

“Well, Miss Barton,” Dutch replied, in a molasses-smooth voice, “you realize you may have just saved our lives? As such, I can personally guarantee you that no harm will come to you from anyone in my gang. So there’s no need to be afraid. I just… well, I”ll need you to come with us.” She was still hesitant, but took Mr. Morgan’s extended hand. He helped her up. She felt wobbly and her legs ached, but she could support herself.

“Good, that’s settled,” continued Mr. Van der Linde. “Mr. Morgan here is going to take you into town, help you get cleaned up a bit. Then, you’re going to visit our camp and we’ll have a chat.” 

“Reckon Colm’ll be on us?” the scarred man said as he checked the fallen men’s pockets, pulling out what little cash they had. His voice was raspy and tight. Ellie watched him as he moved quickly in the moonlight.

“I’m sure he will be, John,” said Mr. Van der Linde. “Maybe I’ll finally have the chance to put old Colm in the dirt where he belongs.”


	2. Chapter 2

The ride into Strawberry was uncomfortable. The other two men had split off a few miles from the O’Driscoll camp. Ellie sat behind Mr. Morgan on his Arabian mare, his coat draped over her shoulders to protect her from the chill and hide her state of undress. Once they got to town, Mr. Morgan pulled his horse up in front of the town hotel and told her to wait by the hitching post. As soon as he’d disappeared through the doors, she looked around frantically. It was very late; the streets were deserted. This is your chance, Ellie told herself. She started to move, then stopped. Where would she go? She had no money. She had no clothes. Anyone who saw her would think she was a prostitute. She could feel the blood and dirt covering her face, her cheek swelling uncomfortably. Would anyone really help her? As she struggled with her decision, Mr. Morgan reappeared and took her by the arm. He guided her around the building to a back entrance and up some stairs to their room. They encountered no one.

The room was small, with a bed in the corner and a small night stand next to it. Mr. Morgan turned toward Ellie. “You need to get cleaned up.”

“I’d rather just sleep,” she said, suddenly feeling the fatigue in every part of her body. 

“Well, I think you might feel a little better if you washed up a bit. Just let me see if I can round up someone to fill the bath.” He left the room and Ellie crossed over to a mirror hanging on the wall. She gasped. She was completely unrecognizable. In fact, she barely looked human. Dried blood covered the right side of her face, while the left side was caked with dirt. Her dark brown hair was wild, sticking out in clumps and matted with mud and blood. Her right eye was swollen from Thomas’s fist. As a doctor’s daughter in the west, she had seen many patients who looked this bad, and those who looked much worse. But she had never seen herself look this way. She stepped away from the mirror.

Mr. Morgan returned after a great while. Ellie supposed he was having trouble arranging a bath at this hour. But eventually it was done and she was directed to the bathroom where she lowered herself into the steaming water. She soaked for awhile, relishing the warmth. Then, she began to scrub. She washed her hair three times, and used up most of the soap on her body. By the time she exited the bath, the water was cold and black but she felt renewed. There was a knock on the door just as she was attempting to dry off with a thread-bare towel. 

“Yes?” she asked tentatively.

“Miss Barton, I have some clothes for you,” came Mr. Morgan’s voice from behind the door. She opened it a crack and he shoved some things through, then turned to walk away. She looked down at the bundle… a night gown, a clean corset and bloomers, a cornflower blue dress. 

She slipped the night gown over her head and made her way back to the room. He was lying on the floor, arms folded behind his head. “You take the bed,” he said, without looking at her.

“How did you get clean clothes at this hour?” she asked him, crossing over to bed and sitting down. The mattress felt soft, wonderful.

“There’s a store next door,” Mr. Morgan said, yawning.

“Why would the store be open at this time of night?”

He chuckled, then glanced toward her. “It ain’t.” 

“Oh,” she said, feeling stupid. Ellie laid down on the bed and turned away from Mr. Morgan. She thought she would never fall asleep, here in a strange room with a strange man on the floor next to her. But as soon as she closed her eyes, she began to drift away. 

*******************************************

“Come along, Ellie, I need that needle,” her father’s voice rang out sharply from his office. She brought him a clean needle and a stack of towels, hurrying to where he stood next to the man in the chair. 

“Bastard just came up and stabbed me,” wheezed the man on the table. He had a long gash in his side, but her father had determined the attacker had missed anything important. “Just be quiet now, sir, I need to sew this up,” her father said as he gestured for the man to take another drink of whisky. The man complied and her father bent down to begin stitching, Ellie watching attentively.

*******************************************

They were in the stagecoach, headed for Saint Denis. It was a long trip, but her father wanted to start over. Again. Suddenly, the stagecoach stopped and shots rang out. Men were opening the doors, pulling her father out, pulling her out. They were beating him, kicking him, holding her back and rummaging through their bags. She called for her father as he screamed in pain.

*******************************************

“Miss Barton. Miss Barton!” 

Ellie opened her eyes and saw Mr. Morgan’s whiskered face above her. She remembered where she was. Her head still ached, but the pain wasn’t quite as sharp as it had been. She slowly sat up as Mr. Morgan crossed the room to look out the window.

“You all right?” he asked, glancing back at her. “You been yellin’ in your sleep a lot.”

“I’m fine,” Ellie replied. She glanced toward the window and saw sunlight streaming in. “What time is it?”

“About noon,” answered Mr. Morgan. “You been asleep for two days.”

“What?!” Ellie sat up straighter. 

“I was gonna get us some food - you hungry?”

Ellie suddenly realized her stomach was roaring with hunger. “Yes, I am.”

“All right, get dressed and meet me outside.”

Ellie dressed quickly. The dress that Mr. Morgan had selected was a bit small, but it would work. Ellie was a tall girl and always had trouble finding clothing that fit well. She noted that the blue of the dress matched the color of her eyes almost exactly. She looked in the mirror and shook her head. Any other time, she would be concerned with the sleeves that were several inches too short. But now, she was more concerned with the green and brown bruising that started at her right temple and snaked its way down the side of her face and neck. The left side of her face, thankfully, looked just fine.

She found Mr. Morgan waiting outside the door. He took her arm and led her down the staircase and around the side of the hotel. The saloon was across the street; they entered and selected a table toward the back. Several patrons turned to stare at them. She supposed they were coming up with all kinds of stories in their heads about the man and his bruised partner. She chuckled softly to herself… she bet none of their stories could top the truth.

“Somethin’ funny?” Mr. Morgan asked as he pulled out her chair.

“No,” she replied. 

He went up to the counter to order and came back with two bowls of stew. Ellie’s bowl was barely set in front of her before she was devouring it. She hadn’t had a decent meal since they’d taken her. After she finished, she tipped the bowl up to her lips and drank down the last of the juice in the bottom, then looked up and noticed Mr. Morgan staring at her. She felt a flush moving up her cheeks and set down her spoon. He hadn’t even started eating yet. 

The food rejuvenated Ellie. She felt like she could think clearly for the first time in days. She looked around the room, assessing the crowd. There were several rough-looking men at the bar, a table toward the front with a laughing, young couple, and another few men seated at a table on the other side of the room. The men at the table looked like her best bet. They were dressed like business men, men of means - they probably had connections and could maybe get her to the sheriff’s office.

“Plottin’ your escape?” Mr. Morgan said suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts. 

“What? No, I… No.” She looked down, fighting to keep the red from rising to her cheeks once again. 

“Look, Miss Barton, Dutch needs to speak with you, so you’re coming back to camp with me, one way or another.” 

She eyed him warily. He had been polite to her, respectful even, but still… he was a gunslinger. 

“Well, what if I don’t?” she blurted out recklessly. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “I have no idea what you’ll do to me. The last group of men who took me back to their camp didn’t treat me so well.” She stopped, her breath coming in short gasps, her mind racing. Still, he just looked at her. “All I have to do is stand up and start yelling. Or wait until we’re outside or on the road, make a plea to a passerby. Look at me, they’ll think you’ve beaten me up. They already think that.” She stopped just as suddenly as she had started. She felt her hands shaking, but she held his gaze.

“You’re right, Miss Barton,” Mr. Morgan finally responded, slowly setting down his spoon. “You could do those things. And these people probably do think I gave you them bruises. But, you seem like an intelligent woman. You really think that’s the best course of action for you to take?” He paused for a beat, then continued. “Colm O’Driscoll is a mad man. When he figures out that we killed all his men at that camp and took off with some woman they was savin’ for him… and then figures out that this woman was actually the one responsible for savin’ Dutch Van der Linde… you really think he’s just gonna let that be?” He paused again. “The answer is no. No, he won’t let it be. He’ll come lookin’ for us and for you, and he’ll find you no matter how far away you run or how many passerby you yell at. Dutch told you, no one in our camp is gonna hurt you. So no one will. And he wants to talk to you, so you’re gonna talk to him.” He went back to eating as though the conversation had never happened. Ellie sat in her seat, stunned to silence.


	3. Chapter 3

They left for Van der Linde’s camp after breakfast. The ride was long and Ellie wasn’t familiar with this area of the country. They passed by a sign that said Valentine, then headed south. The air was crisp in Ellie’s lungs; the sky was clear and blue. Mr. Morgan did not talk to her during the trip. After a time, they turned off the main road and started riding through the trees.

Eventually Ellie saw wagons and horses. There were tents lined along one side of a clearing, with several wagons lining the other side. A fire was burning in the middle of the camp, a large black pot hanging over it. A portly man was stirring its contents, bending down and nodding his head. Nearby, she saw a group of three women huddled together by one of the wagons, chatting happily. Ellie’s eyes widened in surprise. Women? In a camp with _these_ men?

Mr. Morgan hitched his horse and helped her down. He took her by the arm and steered her through the camp. The portly man stood up and stared at her as they came forward. “Hello, Arthur. Miss,” he said, then turned his attention back to the contents of the pot. The women all fell silent as they approached and nodded at them as they walked by. Once they had passed, she heard their chatter start back up, even more animated than before.

In the distance Ellie could see a shirtless man tied to a tree, his head slumped forward. Her heart lurched. So these men kept prisoners tied up, too, did they? She could feel panic rising in her throat. What was she thinking, coming here, to the same kind of men she had just escaped?

She could see where they were headed. There was a large tent toward the end of the camp, with a group of men standing around it. In the middle of the group was Dutch Van der Linde. He was speaking to the men, moving his hands and pacing back and forth. She scanned the men and easily found the other one from that night, the one with the greasy, dark hair and scarred face. He was standing near Dutch, his arms crossed, his jaw set. Mr. Van der Linde looked toward them as they approached.

“Glad you finally decided to join us, Arthur!” he called out. The men all turned to look. She could feel their eyes on her, sizing her up. She felt exposed, embarrassed.

“And you brought our guest.” Mr. Van der Linde smiled at her and extended his hand. She took it slowly.

“She needed the rest, Dutch,” Mr. Morgan replied as he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Slept for damn near two and a half days.”

Mr. Van der Linde nodded, then turned back to Ellie. “You sure do clean up nice, Miss Barton. Yes, I think the last time we saw you, we couldn’t even see your face under all that filth. But you’re lookin’ mighty fine now. Don’t you agree, John? You remember Mr. Marston here, don’t you, Miss Barton?” Mr. Van der Linde nodded toward Mr. Marston, who was staring dumbly at Ellie. He gave a little start, then looked down at the ground and mumbled something incomprehensible.

Ellie pulled her hand away. This was not going as she had hoped. Here she was, back in the middle of a group of strange men, one of whom was making comments about her appearance. Mr. Van der Linde must have sensed her nervousness.

“Now, now, Miss Barton. Don’t you remember? I said we wouldn’t harm you, and we won’t. Now, I need to have a word with you about your little stay with the O’Driscolls.” He spat the last word as though there was venom in his mouth. He gestured toward a small table with stools that was set up near the opening of the tent. She went to the table and sat down. Mr. Van der Linde turned back toward the group of men. “Bill, Lenny - head over to Emerald Ranch and start your inquires. I want to be sure this tip is legitimate. Javier, go talk to Hosea about our little problem with the locals. He’s got some ideas. Arthur, John, with me.”

Mr. Van der Linde sat down on a small stool across from Ellie, and Mr. Morgan and Mr. Marston took the other seats. Mr. Van der Linde looked at her with dark, assessing eyes. Mr. Morgan smoked his cigarette and looked off into the distance. Mr. Marston seemed jumpy as hell, looking all over the place except at Ellie. She couldn’t help but stare at his scars, now that she was this close to him.

“Wolves,” said Mr. Van der Linde.

“What?” said Ellie, startled. “I’m sorry… wolves?”

“Yes,” Mr. Van der Linde replied. “Wolves got to John here, tore him up real good, too.” Mr. Morgan laughed under his breath.

“You got somethin’ you wanna say, Morgan?” Mr. Marston said, glaring across the table. “This funny to you?” he continued, motioning toward his face.

“Ah, no, it ain’t funny at all, Little John,” replied Mr. Morgan, drawing out the last two words as if teasing a child. “Bested by a few wolves… you’re quite the legend, ain’t you?”

“Shut your damn mouth, Arthur,” replied John.

“Both of you, shut up!” scolded Mr. Van der Linde with a tone of finality. “Now, Miss Barton. Please excuse these idiots, they do not know how to behave in front of company. Can you tell me where you’re from?”

“Well… ” Ellie faltered, not sure if she should tell the truth or not. With a sinking feeling, she realized that at this point, it didn’t really matter… there was no one left in her life to protect. “I’m from out west. We moved around a lot, so I don’t really have a place I call home. Last place we were was up toward the Yukon.”

“Yukon, huh? It’s rough up there,” said Mr. Morgan.

“Yes, it was. My father was a doctor. He liked to travel, though. See the beauty of the world, he said. He found a lot of work up that way. There were always men breaking their bones or needing stitching up.”

“And how is it you ended up near Strawberry?” asked Mr. Van der Linde, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table.

“My father decided he wanted to see the east. We were headed toward Saint Denis; he thought he’d set up shop there and try to get a practice going. He was getting older, you know. I think he thought the work might be easier in a city.”

“The only thing you’ll find in a city is shit and rats,” Mr. Marston snarled. She glanced over at him. He still wouldn’t look her in the eye.

The other two men grunted their agreement. Mr. Van der Linde continued with his questioning. “How is it you fell in with the O’Driscolls, then?”

“Well, we were on a stagecoach to Valentine. We were going to stay there, then ride the train to Saint Denis.” Ellie paused, remembering the chaos. “They came out of nowhere, swarming all around the stagecoach. They shot the driver first thing, then dragged my father and me out.” She could feel the tears starting to well in her eyes, the tightness spreading across her chest. “They beat him… badly. Then they shot him.” She stopped, unable to continue for a moment. “They could’ve just robbed us, they didn’t need to kill anyone.” There was a pleading tone in her voice, as though these men could do something about the past. The men stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue. Eventually, she did. “They took our things and dragged me off to that camp. There were over a dozen of them. I thought they were going to… to… violate me. I was desperate; I told them I could help them, that I had helped my father for years. Said I could stitch up anyone who needed stitching up, you see? At first they laughed at me, but then Thomas said it wasn’t a half bad idea. So they kept me tied up in a tent, kept saying that they were going to give me to this Colm person and let him decide”

She stopped talking and looked up at Mr. Van der Linde. “I see,” he said. “What about the rest of your family? Your mama? Brothers or sisters?”

Ellie shook her head. “My mama died when I was five - TB. No brothers or sisters. It was just me and my father.”

Mr. Van der Linde nodded, looking at Ellie. His eyes gave away nothing. “Now what I really want to know, Miss Barton, is whether you can give me any information about the rest of the O’Dricsolls. Anything you might’ve overheard about their whereabouts or their plans.”

Ellie thought for a minute. “I was tied up in the tent most of the time…” she trailed off, still thinking. “Thomas kept saying that Colm would be there in a few days, so he had to have been close.” She looked up, hopeful that this was what he was looking for.

“Hell, we already knew that, Dutch,” said Mr. Marston, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Quiet, John,” said Mr. Van der Linde, warning in his voice.

“Come on, you seriously think they was talkin’ plans in front of _her_?” he replied sarcastically.

“The train!” she blurted out suddenly. They all stopped to look at her. “There was talk about a train, they were going to rob it. It was supposed to be big, they said. Something about the army?”

“Hmmm… an army payday?” Mr. Morgan said, looking at Mr. Van der Linde. Mr. Van der Linde nodded and rubbed his hands together.

“Good, Miss Barton. And where was this train headed? When?”

She racked her brain, trying to remember anything else, but there was nothing. “I’m… ummm… Rhodes maybe? Valentine? I’m sorry, I don’t know any other details.”

Mr. Van der Linde did not seem to mind. “Thank you, Miss Barton.” After a pause, he continued. “So, you helped your father when he was working?” Ellie nodded. “You ever do any of the work yourself?”

“Well, some. I helped stitch people up, set bones, deliver babies, that type of thing. The major surgeries… I watched but I didn’t perform any of those.”

“What are you thinkin’, Dutch?” asked Mr. Morgan.

Mr. Van der Linde stood up and paced a bit, hands on his hips. “What I’m thinkin’, Arthur, is that we could use someone around here that actually knows a thing or two about doctorin’.”

“Jesus Christ, Dutch,” Mr. Marston said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “We don’t need another damn mouth to feed. We’re strugglin’ enough the way it is!”

“Pipe down, Johnny boy,” Mr. Morgan replied. “Dutch, that ain’t a bad idea.”

Ellie stood up and the three men stopped talking. “Don’t I have a say in this?” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I really don’t want to stay here. I told you what I know, now I want to leave”

Mr. Van der Linde considered Ellie for a moment. “And just where do you plan to go, Miss Barton?”

“Well, I… I’ll... “ she stammered, thinking furiously. “I’ll go on to Saint Denis, just as my father and I planned. I’ll find a doctor who will take me on as an assistant.”

“The road to Saint Denis is long and dangerous, Miss Barton,” replied Mr. Van der Linde. “Especially for a single woman traveling with no money and no protection. But let’s say you do make it there, find a job, find a place to live. How long before one of the O’Driscoll gang finally hunts you down and slits your throat for helpin’ old Dutch Van der Linde escape their clutches?”

Ellie struggled to respond. “What about that man?” she finally blurted out.

“What man?” Mr. Morgan responded.

“That man, over there, tied to the tree!? she exclaimed. “You expect me to believe you’ll treat me well, yet you’re keeping people tied up, just the same as the O’Driscolls!”

“That isn’t a _man_ , Miss Barton,” Dutch hissed. “ _That_ is an O’Driscoll. And believe me, if we didn’t keep him tied up, he’d be running off to Colm right this second, telling him the location of our camp.”

Ellie didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure she could trust what this man was saying. Was the man really an O’Driscoll? If she left, would the O’Driscolls really track her down? All the way to Saint Denis, no less? How would they even find her or know what she looked like? Then she thought about Thomas, gloating about how he had caught “Dutch and his two mutts,” his manic glee at what Colm would say when he arrived. This feud, or whatever it was, was serious business.

“Look,” she said, “I can stay for awhile. Just until things calm down a bit.”

Mr. Van der Linde nodded. Mr. Morgan looked satisfied. Mr. Marston stomped off, muttering to himself.

“But where do I sleep?” Ellie asked.

“She can stay in my tent, Dutch,” Mr. Morgan offered. Ellie stiffened and looked at Mr. Morgan wildly. “Calm down, Miss Barton, I’ll bunk up with one of the other men,” he assured her. “I’ll show you the way.”

They stood to leave and Mr. Van der Linde grabbed something from his tent and held it out to Ellie. It was her father’s medical bag. “You may be needing this, Miss Barton.” She nodded at him and took the bag, then followed Mr. Morgan to his tent.

*******************************************

The next week passed in a blur of new faces and names. Ellie had no occasion to provide medical care to anyone in the camp, but made herself useful nonetheless. She met the portly man from the stew pot, Mr. Pearson, and helped him chop vegetables and meat for the daily stew. He stank of raw meat, but was friendly. She met Mrs. Grimshaw, whose sharp tongue was intimidating, but who helped her figure out the lay of the camp and find a few dresses that actually fit. She met Tilly and Mary-Beth, who showed her how to do the camp laundry in the nearby creek, and were fascinated by stories about the colorful characters her father had treated and the near-fatal surgeries she had witnessed. She met Uncle, who laid about the camp with a bottle of moonshine in hand, and told her stories about the camp inhabitants and their adventures. She met Abigail, who was quiet and standoffish but kind, and showed her the supplies to mend clothing. She also met Abigail and John’s son, Jack, a sweet boy who roamed the camp, looking for playmates. There were others, of course, and they all seemed open and accepting of her presence. She typically saw the men in the evening, during supper and after, when they gathered around the fire, smoking and drinking, telling stories of the day’s exploits or roughly teasing one another. The names and faces all ran together… Bill, Javier, Hosea, Charles, Sean… she felt she’d never keep them all straight.

One man she could remember, however, was John Marston. At night, when the group gathered around the fire, he always sat far away from her. She would look up from time to time, and catch him staring at her, a fierce look on his face. He told stories like the rest of the men, hurled insults at the others with the best of them, but the one time she had tried to talk to him, he had turned abruptly and walked away from her. She had no idea what she had done to him or how she had angered him. She found herself thinking about him more and more, her eyes always searching for him among the other gang members. Late at night, tucked into the cot in Arthur’s tent, she would hear him arguing with Abigail, as they screamed at each other loudly enough for the whole camp to hear. One night, several weeks after she had arrived, the yelling grew so intense that Ellie sat up in bed, frightened that something bad was going to happen.

“That’s right, Abigail. I can’t do nothin’ right, just like always!” John’s voice carried across the night.

“What are you thinking, John? Be a man, for god’s sake! Be a father! You’re useless!” Abigail yelled.

“Be a father? Be a father?” John yelled back, his voice wild. “And then everything will just be better, huh?”

“You are worthless, you always have been and you always will be!” Abigail screamed. There was silence after that. Ellie thought she heard footsteps moving across the camp and the low nickerings of a horse. When she woke the next morning, John was gone and Abigail was in a foul mood, snapping at everyone and everything in her path.

Later that day, Ellie found herself sitting by the side of the stream, patching pants with Karen. Karen was pleasant and easy to talk to. With the warm sun on her face and a new friend by her side, Ellie almost felt normal. Karen was telling stories from the gang’s past, specifically a harrowing tale about their flight from Blackwater and subsequent hide out in in the north.

“It was terrible, Ellie, just terrible,” Karen said, shaking her head. “We was all starving, just skin and bones, and frozen to the core. I thought we’d never make it out of there. That’s when we found Sadie, the poor thing. And then John was attacked, comes back all torn up. We was sure he’d die. Abigail was beside herself.”

Ellie seized on the opportunity to ask the question that had been turning in her mind. “Karen, are Abigail and John married?”

Karen laughed and shook her head again. “Not officially, no. Well, not even unofficially. Who knows. He’s Jack’s father, you know. So he sticks around with her.” Karen paused, as if deciding whether or not to continue. “But, honestly? Them two is miserable together. Most of the time she don’t even stay in his tent with him. And when they do get together, all they do is scream at each other.” Ellie made a noncommittal noise and waited for Karen to go on. Finally, she did. “It can’t be good for the boy, you know. And he’s so sweet.”

“Yes, he’s adorable,” replied Ellie. “Living this life as a child, it can’t be easy.”

“Ain’t that the truth!” nodded Karen. “You know….” her voice trailed off and she looked at Ellie. “John don’t seem to think that… well…” Karen stopped herself. “Never mind, I’ve been enough of a gossip for one day. Let’s get this back up to camp.” The pair gathered up the newly-patched clothing and made the short walk back to the camp, Ellie’s mind burning with curiosity.


	4. Chapter 4

John didn’t appear the next day, nor the next. Abigail stormed about the camp, throwing things and sneering at anyone who dared to look at her. Dutch finally had to pull her aside and have a long talk with her, though it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. On the fourth day of John’s absence, Ellie thought if she didn’t escape the tension of the camp she would scream. She exited Arthur’s tent and found him nearby, cleaning his rifle. 

“Hello, Arthur,” she said. “I just wanted to say thank you again for letting me borrow your tent. It’s very considerate of you.”

Arthur grunted in response. “Ain’t no problem, Miss Barton.”

“Are you heading out this morning?” she asked.

"Goin' huntin'. Hosea claims there's a massive grizzly up in this area, north of Valentine. The food supply is runnin' low and… well, I wouldn't mind baggin' myself a legendary grizzly," he chuckled, rolling his eyes. He obviously thought Hosea was exaggerating. Ellie was seized with a sudden rush of spontaneity.

“Arthur, would you teach me to shoot?” she asked. 

“You wanna learn to shoot? What for?” 

"I don't know exactly," she stammered. "To protect myself, I guess. Or to hunt." In the distance, they could hear Abigail screaming at Mr. Pearson. "Or to get the hell out of this camp before I go crazy."

Arthur laughed and nodded. “Yeah, I can teach you to shoot. Meet me by the horses in a few.”

They rode out into the forest for a while until they came upon a large clearing. Arthur stopped his horse and dismounted. Ellie followed suit and watched as Arthur pulled several empty tin cans from his satchel and set them up on a rock.

“All that time on the move and your daddy never taught you how to shoot?” Arthur asked, moving back toward Ellie. She shook her head.

“No, he was more concerned with my learning to read and speak properly. Well, that and how to stitch people up.”

Arthur pulled out his gun. “Now, the most important thing to remember, is you never pull the trigger with breath in your lungs.” He exaggerated taking a breath and exhaling, then raised his revolver and aimed at one of the cans, pulling the trigger. The can flew off the rock, somersaulting through the air before landing on the ground. “Got it?”

“I think so,” said Ellie. She took the revolver from him. It was heavy and cold in her hand. She pointed it at one of the remaining cans on the rock and breathed in, then out. She aimed, then squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, but no cans moved. “Dammit!” she yelled, stomping her foot.

Arthur chuckled. "Try again," he urged. She tried again and missed again. And again. And again. Ellie cursed and stomped the ground each time, the color rising in her cheeks.

“Calm down, Miss Barton. Just calm down,” soothed Arthur. Each time she missed, he quietly coached her, showing her how to change her hold on the gun, how to plant her feet wide and strong, how to keep her arm steady. Finally, on the tenth try, her shot connected. She squealed and spun around, laughing, then hugged Arthur. He froze for a moment, then smiled and hugged her back.

“Not bad, Miss Barton. Not bad at all,” he said as he pulled away.

“No, Arthur, it was very bad,” she replied. “I’m afraid I’m not the crack shot I imagined myself to be.”

“You’ll get there, just keep practicin’. Once you start hittin’ cans reliably, then we’ll start you on a rifle and aim for moving targets. Start small, though - rabbits, squirrels, that type of thing.”

She nodded and grinned enthusiastically before turning to try a few more shots. She did eventually hit the remaining two cans, though it took some time. Finally, she was ready to return to camp. During the ride back, she started humming an old hymn she remembered from her childhood. 

“That’s nice,” said Arthur, steering his horse through the brush.

“Yes, I remember it from a stint we did out in the Utah Territory. My father was going through a religious phase,” she said. “Today was just so nice. Thank you so much, Arthur.”

“Of course, Miss Barton.”

Ellie didn’t say it out loud, but the morning had reminded her of time spent with her father. She thought of Arthur, patiently moving her hand to the correct position on the revolver, the same way her father would quietly show her how to angle the needle to stitch up a cut. They talked comfortably the rest of the way back to camp. As they rode up to the hitching post, they both noticed John’s horse tied there. 

“Oh boy, here we go,” said Arthur as he dismounted. “Let’s see what old Johnny boy’s been up to now.”

They walked toward the center of camp together, to see John talking with Dutch and Hosea. Several others were standing around them. Dutch was clapping John on the back and laughing; there was a huge grizzly skin laid on the ground before them. “Well, I’ll be god-damned,” Arthur muttered from beside her.

“I told you he was there!” chimed Hosea, smiling and pointing at John. “I told you!”

“Yeah, you did, old man,” agreed John, smiling. Ellie couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked when he smiled. “I got him up near O’Creagh’s Run. Tracked him for two days. Thought the bastard was gonna split me in two before I finally finished him off.” 

“You did good, son,” said Dutch. “Pearson’s already butchering the carcass down by the stream… said we’ll have food for days.” Dutch addressed the rest of the group. “I think this calls for a celebration tonight!” he yelled across the camp. The group erupted in cheers and laughter. As Ellie and Arthur approached, she saw John look up and notice the two of them. His face instantly fell dark, but he recovered quickly and gave Dutch a forced smile.

“Sounds good, Dutch. Sounds good!” He walked toward his tent, coughing and rubbing the back of his neck as he went.

*******************************************

Supper was delicious; everyone milled about the camp with bowls in their hands, shouting compliments at Mr. Pearson and John. The whisky and gin were flowing freely, and the group grew louder and louder as the night wore on. Javier eventually disappeared into his tent and reemerged with his guitar. Song after song followed, the group's singing off-key and rowdy. Several songs in, Uncle stood up and grabbed Mary-Beth's hand, twirling her around. The pair began drunkenly dancing to the music and soon everyone was up, spinning and jumping, moving together.

Ellie had taken several sips of whisky as the bottles were being passed around, and she could feel the alcohol take effect as she twirled around with Tilly. She was slightly dizzy, but it was pleasant and relaxing. She could also feel a foolish smile plastered onto her face; in fact, it seemed she couldn’t stop smiling even if she wanted to. Soon, she was dancing with Charles, then Mary-Beth, then Dutch, then Sadie. Everyone was spinning around together. As she whirled out of Sadie’s hands she turned and slammed into a hard chest. She blinked and looked into the face of John Marston. She could feel the grin on her face falter a bit, then she asked him over the din, “Would you like to dance?” He looked at her for a moment, then grabbed her hand and started to twirl her. He pulled her toward him, one hand on her waist, the other holding her hand tightly. They moved together quickly, the music too fast for conversation. She felt the heat of his body and her heart pounded in her chest until it was the only thing she could hear. The next thing she knew, she was spun out of his hands and back into Tilly’s. Once the song ended, she sat down next to Arthur. She scanned the dancing crowd, looking for John, but couldn’t find him. She could hear Arthur chuckling next to her.

"You lookin' for scarface?" he asked pointedly

"What? No, of course not," she replied, looking down and smoothing out her skirt. She noticed her hands were shaking.

“Right, Miss Barton,” said Arthur. “Let’s have a dance, then.” He pulled her up and they danced to the music, laughing and singing together. At one point, she spied John over Arthur’s shoulder. He was back by the tents, talking to Abigail. In truth, it looked like they were screaming, not talking. When the song was over she looked for him again, but they were both gone.

As the music continued into the night, Ellie eventually slipped away to fill another bowl of stew, then stole out to the tree where the O’Driscoll man was secured. She approached him slowly, looking him over. He was covered in filth, his ribs were sticking out, and his skin was red and peeling from the sun. He smelled of piss and stale sweat. His head slumped forward on his chest. 

“Mister?” she asked quietly. “Mister?” He slowly looked up at her, then his eyes focused on the bowl she was holding. He began to groan. She moved forward and spooned stew into his mouth, checking over her shoulder every minute or so to make sure no one was coming. The man slurped down the stew greedily, watching her face as she fed him spoonful after spoonful. After the food was gone, he licked his lips and sighed.

“Thank you, Miss,” he said in a tired voice.

“Of course,” she replied. She stood there for a minute, unsure of what else to say, then turned to walk away. A sudden movement in the shadows caught her eye. She stopped short and squinted into the darkness. Someone was standing there, watching her. As her eyes adjusted, she realized it was John. He quickly turned and walked away.

*******************************************

Several days later, Ellie decided to sort through the medical supplies that the gang kept in one of the wagons. There was a crate full of half-used ointments and revivers, a small collection of needles, thread, a rusty knife, and not much else. As she worked, she became aware of raised voices and shouts. She looked over to the other end of camp and saw most of the men saddling up and riding out. She walked over to Uncle, who was reclined against a nearby rock, his eyes half-closed.

“Uncle? Are you awake?” she asked.

“Why, yes ma’am, I am,” he slurred, happily raising the bottle next to him and taking a drink. “How can I be of service?”

“I was just curious where everyone is going.”

“Ah, well our fearless lads are off to rescue the infamous Micah Bell.”

“Micah Bell?” she repeated. She had heard his name a few times since arriving in camp.

“That’s right. Seems he’s holed up in the Strawberry jail. Somebody finally caught the greasy bastard,” Uncle humphed as he raised the bottle again.

“They’re going to break him out of a jail cell?” she asked, her voice suddenly concerned. How exactly was that going to work?

“Don’t worry, Miss Barton,” assured Uncle. “Our boys know what they’re doin’.”

*******************************************

The following day Ellie was picking some herbs when she heard Hosea yelling for her. As she approached the camp, she could see that the men had returned. Javier was sitting on the ground, holding his arm. Dutch, Bill, and John were hitching their horses. Sean and Arthur were bent over, their hands on their knees as if to catch their breath. They were all covered in dust, their faces smeared with dirt. In the middle of the group stood a blonde-haired man who was hollering and holding his jaw.

“That fuckin’ horse kicked me!” he yelled at no one in particular. “She broke my jaw, dammit! Haul her outta here and shoot her in the face!” 

“Calm down, Micah,” said Hosea. “There will be no shooting of horses in this camp. And you wouldn’t be yelling like a fool if your jaw was broken, would you? Now, Miss Barton is here to take a look. Mary-Beth, fetch the doctor’s bag and some whisky, will you?” Mary-Beth took off at a run. 

“Micah Bell?” Ellie asked, offering her hand to the man. “I’m Ellie Barton.”

Micah ignored her hand. “I’m in pain here, woman. Fix this up!”

Arthur growled from behind him. "Watch your damn mouth, Micah, before I haul your ass back to Strawberry and lock you up myself. Unbelievable… how the hell do you find time durin' a jailbreak to get kicked in the damn head by a horse?" A chorus of laughter and jeers broke out amongst the men, all directed at Micah.

“All of you, just shut the hell up!” he yelled. 

Ellie reached out to steady Micah. “Please try to calm down. I need to see the wound.”

He snarled at her touch. “Here’s the damn wound!” he shouted, pulling his hands away to display a gash in his jaw. She guided him to sit on a nearby log, then knelt in front of him. 

“Please, just try to hold still,” she said. She reached out and softly ran her fingers along either side of his face and down along his jaw. He flinched as she reached the gash, which was surrounded by fresh bruising. “Easy,” she said. “Open and close your mouth for me.” He did, and she nodded. “It’s fine. I just need to stitch you up.” It took less than ten minutes for Ellie to close the wound. As she worked, most of the men filtered away to their tents. Micah glared at her after she was done. 

"I better not have a mark from this. Last thing I want is to start takin' after scarface over there," he said, motioning behind her. She turned and saw John Marston staring at them.

“You know, Micah, I don’t know whose bright idea it was to go and rescue your dumb ass,” John retorted. He started coughing as he glowered at Micah.

Ellie nodded curtly at Micah, opting to stay professional amongst the bickering. “It wasn't deep. There shouldn’t be much of a scar, if at all. Just keep it clean.” Micah stalked off toward his tent. “Was there something wrong with Javier’s arm?” she asked Hosea.

“No, I think he’s fine,” Hosea replied. “Good work on Micah. He’s… well, he’s a bit of an acquired taste.” John snorted loudly, then began coughing again. Hosea turned to look at him. “John, would you have the good doctor take a look at you? That cough is just getting worse.”

“I’m fine,” John protested, before starting to cough again.

“When did this start?” Ellie asked. John just shook his head and continued coughing. 

Hosea answered for him. “Started after he got back from O’Creagh’s Run. Honestly, it’s driving me crazy so please, Miss Barton, see if there’s anything you can do.” 

She walked up to John. “I’ll need to examine you,” she said. 

“I said I’m fine, dammit!” he barked.

“John, for Christ’s sake, just do it. If I have to listen to that coughing for much longer, I’ll smother you in your sleep!” Hosea yelled.

“Fine!” John huffed. “Where do you want me?” 

Ellie’s eyebrow involuntarily raised at the question. John's eyes went wide momentarily and his cheeks began to redden. She turned to grab her bag and told him she’d treat him in his tent. He walked that way, with Ellie close behind. Once they got inside the tent, Ellie set her bag down. “I’ll need you to remove your coat and shirt.”

“What for?” John blustered. She could hear the edge in his voice.

"If you have a cough, that means there could be something wrong with your lungs. I need to listen to your breathing," she replied calmly. "Just take off your coat and shirt and sit down on the edge of your cot." She turned away from him so he didn't have to undress with her watching. As she waited, she glanced around the tent. Compared to Arthur's, it was almost empty. In one corner there was a small chest with some clothing thrown haphazardly on top of it. Next to the chest, an array of guns were lying on the ground or leaning against the canvas. In the other corner, there was a small box containing a mirror, razor, and towels. She quietly sighed as she spotted one of Abigail's hair ribbons lying on the ground next to the box.

"OK," said John from behind her. She turned and knelt in front of him, moving between his knees. "Whoa, what the hell are you doin'?" he said, reflexively moving away from her.

“Mr. Marston, I need to examine you.” He looked at her warily. She moved her ear toward his chest, wanting to listen to his heart first. She could feel his breath catch as she laid the side of her head upon him. His chest was hard and warm, the stomach beneath it flat and muscled. He sat unnaturally still. She could see one of his hands, tightly grasping the edge of the cot, knuckles white. His heart was pounding as though he’d just finished running around the camp. She could feel her own heartbeat racing to meet his.

“Okay, now I need you to take some deep breaths.” She listened carefully to his lungs. “They sound good,” she said, pulling back from him. Ellie could see his body relax as she moved away. Then she put her hands on either side of his neck and felt for signs of infection. His skin felt hot under her fingertips. She looked into his face. He was looking down at the ground.

“Why won’t you ever look me in the eye?” she asked suddenly. 

He gave a small start. "What are you talkin' about?" he said, his eyes rising to meet hers. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. The tension in the room was so thick Ellie could hardly draw breath. She kept getting urges to lean forward and kiss him, to bury his face in her bosom, to pull up her skirt and straddle him on the cot. Instead, she pulled back.

"You have a cold," she said. "The best thing for you is rest and a mixture of mashed herbs to help clear up your airway. It will have to be rubbed into your neck and chest twice a day..." her voice trailed off and her eyes dropped back to his shirtless chest. "I can make it and Abigail can apply it for you." His eyes flashed dark at the mention of Abigail's name. He grabbed his shirt and began to dress. Ellie turned and exited the tent, moving as quickly as she could without making a scene.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a cool autumn morning and Ellie was attempting to remove a splinter from Jack’s finger. He sat on a stool before her, squirming and snatching his hand away every time she got close with the needle. 

"For heaven's sake, Jack, hold still for the doctor!" scolded Abigail. She was hovering about, the concern etched onto her face. "Thank you, Miss Barton," she said. "It seems silly, just a little splinter and all… but, it's stuck in there and it looks like it's gettin' infected."

“It’s no problem, Abigail,” Ellie replied. “Jack, did you see that new roan that Charles brought back to camp yesterday?”

Jack shook his head, momentarily forgetting about the needle. “That wasn’t a roan, silly! That’s an appaloosa!” As Jack corrected her, Ellie nimbly caught the splinter between the needle and her fingernail, pulling it out. 

“You know, you’re right!” Ellie replied. “You sure know your horses!” She rubbed some salve onto Jack’s finger and tied a piece of cloth around it. “That should help clear out any infection,” she said to Abigail. Jack, who must have taken this as a sign that he was free, took off running at a dead sprint. 

"Thank you again," Abigail said, staring after Jack. "I just fret over him. This ain't no life for a boy." Ellie noticed her soft, dark hair moving gently in the breeze, framing her porcelain face. She was beautiful. But her eyes were sad, with dark shadows under them. Ellie assured her the boy would be fine and hurried away. Being around Abigail and Jack made her feel ashamed, as though she had done something wrong. She wanted to hate Abigail but knew she had no reason to.

In the month since Ellie had examined John in his tent, he had kept even more of a distance from her than usual. Once they had both approached the coffee pot at the same time, and she could practically hear the air thrumming as she waited for him to fill his cup. He hadn’t even glanced in her direction. At night, Ellie would picture John sitting on the edge of his cot, the look in his eyes when she had knelt before him with her hands on his neck. Her hand would move between her legs and she would stroke herself over and over, imagining John was in the cot with her, his hands on her body. 

As she walked by the campfire, she noticed that the O’Driscoll man was no longer tied to the tree at the end of camp. “Mr. Pearson, do you know where that man from the tree went?” she asked. The camp cook was carrying a plate of chopped deer meat, which he slid into the pot over the fire. 

“Kieran? Oh, a few of the boys took him out this mornin’,” he replied. “Sounded like he was gonna lead them to an O’Driscoll safe house or some such business.” 

Later that afternoon, Ellie saw Arthur, John, and Bill ride up with Kieran in tow. They dismounted and Dutch walked up to them. “Well, gentlemen? Did this rodent take you to Colm’s nest?” he asked. 

“He did, but Colm wasn’t there,” responded Arthur. 

“There were still plenty of rats there. We put ‘em all in the ground, too,” John added, walking over to Kieran. “Turns out Kieran here wants to move in with us.”

“Is that so?” Dutch said, looking Kieran up and down. Kieran nodded and kept his eyes on the ground.

“He shot down one of them that had the jump on me,” Arthur said. “Might not be worth killin’ him yet.”

Dutch nodded. “If you say so, Arthur." He turned to Kieran. “Make yourself useful, then, and go chop some wood or something!” Kieran stumbled away from the group. As he retreated, Bill held up a huge pair of tongs, snapping them at the air. 

“And don’t you forget, boy,” Bill yelled, “One wrong step and we’ll be takin’ those balls clean off!” He snapped the tongs again and Kieran began to run, throwing terrified looks over his shoulder at Bill. The rest of the men burst out laughing and slowly dispersed. Ellie crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Arthur as he walked by.

“What’s that look for?” he asked.

“Well, that certainly didn't seem necessary," she replied. "That poor man has been through so much. Do you really need to threaten him like that?"

"Hey now, it wasn't me waving the tongs around," Arthur protested with a laugh. He stopped when Ellie did not return his smile. "Bill's all talk, you don't have to worry about him."

"Well I should hope not," Ellie said. "The last thing I need is to have to tend to a castration wound."

"Fair enough," said Arthur.

Ellie took in the blood splattered across Arthur's shirt and up his arm. "You're not hurt, are you?" she asked.

"It ain’t my blood."

Ellie nodded and rubbed her temples, suddenly weary. "I guess sometimes I forget what's really happening here. Staying in the camp all the time, it's easy to pretend you all aren’t out there doing… what you're doing."

"Ellie, the only people we get after are people who got it comin'."

"I hope you're sure about that," she said. She walked away, leaving him staring after her.

*******************************************

Ellie bent next to the rushing stream, wringing out the shirt she had just finished washing. Her hands were stiff and numb from the cold water. She added the shirt to the pile of finished laundry, then gathered it all in her arms and began the short walk back to camp. As she made her way through the trees, she could hear raised voices… Abigail and John. She could barely see them through the brush but realized they were blocking the path. Ellie knelt behind a large rock, embarrassed to be eavesdropping on their argument.

“Will you keep your voice down, please?” Abigail spat at John. “The boy’ll hear you.”

“The boy will hear me? Well, good! I’m tired of this, Abigail.” 

“Of course you’re tired of it, John, you’re a sad excuse for a man, that’s what! If you would just be a man for me, be a father to him….”

“Abigail, for the last god-damned time, you and me both know that I ain’t Jack’s father.” John growled the words at her. He sounded wild, uncontrolled. “This whole camp knows it and nobody will say nothin’ about it!”

Ellie felt her breath catch in her chest. Jack wasn’t John’s son? She strained to hear more, but the voices died away as John and Abigail moved deeper into the woods. Ellie slowly got up. The whole camp knows? How could this be? She tightened her hold on the laundry in her arms and continued her walk to camp, her mind racing.

*******************************************

“Now just what is that boy up to?” Karen said, more to herself than to Ellie. They were sitting under a sprawling oak tree on the edge of camp, enjoying a peaceful respite from Mrs. Grimshaw’s iron command. Ellie looked in the direction of Karen’s gaze and saw Sean hitching two horses to one of the wagons. Karen’s eyes grew wide. “Good lord, Ellie, I think he’s headin’ into town. Let’s see if we can catch a ride!” She jumped up and grabbed Ellie’s arm, half dragging her toward the wagon.

“Didn’t Mrs. Grimshaw say something about helping with supper?” Ellie asked, nervously casting a glance back toward the center of camp.

“Hell yes, she did!” replied Karen. “That’s why we’ve gotta get out of here while we have the chance. I’ve been dyin’ to get to town!” Ellie had to admit that a change of scenery would be nice. “God, I’m just so sweet on that boy,” Karen whispered under her breath as they approached Sean. He broke out into a huge grin when he spotted them, his eyes lingering long on Karen.

“Well, now, look at these two lasses!”

“And where are you off to?” Karen asked. 

"Grimshaw was harpin' on me to go into Valentine and pick up some supplies. Finally decided to go. It was the only way to shut her up, the ol' battle-ax."

“It just so happens we’re _also_ on the run from the battle-ax," Karen whispered conspiratorially. "So it looks like we're comin' with you!" Not waiting for a reply, she climbed up into the back of the wagon and plopped herself down among the empty crates. 

“Oh, are ya now?” Sean asked, smiling. “It’s gonna cost you, ya know.” Karen giggled while Ellie rolled her eyes and pulled herself up into the wagon, nestling alongside Karen. Sean finished hitching up the horses and urged them out of camp before the girls could be discovered. It was a dusty, rough ride, made somewhat more tolerable by Sean’s tales about his “da,” which he interspersed with dirty limericks. When they arrived in Valentine, he pulled the wagon in behind the general store and they all jumped down, brushing the dirt off their clothing. Ellie started toward the store, then felt Karen pull her back. 

“Not so fast, Ellie,” she said with a smirk in Sean’s direction. “Let’s have a little fun first. We can get the supplies later.”

Sean laughed. "Oh, you're a spunky lass, ain't ya? I like the sound of this!" He linked his arm in hers and the two of them walked past the store and toward the saloon next door. Ellie had a sinking feeling that this wasn't going to end well, but followed after them anyway. The saloon was empty, save for a cluster of young ranch hands at the bar. Sean ordered three beers, then turned and surveyed the room, one hand settled firmly on Karen's hip. He started whispering something about MacGuire Junior into her ear and she threw her head back, laughing animatedly. Ellie was just starting to think that she should have stayed back at camp when a familiar voice reverberated throughout the saloon.

“Sean! Fancy seeing you here! And I see you brought the ladies.” Ellie looked up to see Dutch striding through the door, Arthur and John on his heels. 

"Well, well, what a happy coincidence!" Sean replied. Arthur raised an eyebrow at Ellie as if to ask what she was doing here. She shrugged and gave him her best "don't ask" look.

“I’m glad you’re here, son,” said Dutch. “We could use another man on this. Let’s have a seat and talk business.” He turned to Karen and Ellie. “Ladies, we have some plans to discuss. Why don’t you have another drink, on me, and we’ll have Sean back to you in a moment.” Without waiting for a reply, the men headed for a table in the back.

Karen drained the rest of her beer, then ordered a whisky and drank it down in one gulp. “Dammit!” she swore. “Of course those fools had to show up, just as Sean was startin’ to work his magic!”

“I’m sure they’ll be done soon,” Ellie replied. She glanced back toward the table and saw the four of them huddled together in conversation. John’s head was bent forward, his eyes intent on Dutch. 

“Well, I don’t care what Dutch says,” Karen huffed. “I’ll _make_ Sean come over here and get back to it!” She winked at Ellie and sauntered over to the group of ranch hands, exaggerating the swing of her hips. “Hey boys,” she purred, “need some company over here?” The men perked up, elbowing each other out of the way to stand next to Karen, who kept glancing toward the back to see if Sean was watching. Ellie decided it was time to get some air. She walked outside and settled on a bench toward the end of the saloon porch. As she took in the traffic and bustle of the afternoon, she noticed a group of about six men gathered together across the street. She leaned her head back and took a deep breath. The saloon walls were thin; she could hear the ranch hands talking loudly, presumably attempting to impress Karen. She wondered if Sean had taken the bait. She wondered if John had noticed her absence. 

Her eyes were drawn back to the group of men. They kept glancing over at the saloon. A tiny bell started to ring in the back of Ellie's head. She told herself she was overreacting and turned her attention to the newspaper boy on the corner, who was waving the latest issue in the faces of two passersby. Again her eyes returned to the men and, this time, her heart leaped into her throat. They were drawing guns and walking out into the middle of the street. A bald man with a brown mustache emerged from the group to stand in front of them. Ellie began to rise from her seat, but the bald man's voice rang out and she dropped back down, paralyzed with fear. "Dutch Van der Linde!" he yelled loudly. "Dutch Van der Linde, we know you're in there!"

Inside the saloon, the ranch hands fell silent. The man continued. “You need to come out of there now, Mr. Van der Linde! We represent Mr. Leviticus Cornwall. It seems you’ve developed a bad habit of stealing from Mr. Cornwall and it’s time to remedy the situation!” Ellie could hear a low commotion behind the wall, urgent voices, feet shuffling. She couldn’t make out what was being said, although she thought she could pick out Sean’s voice. Suddenly, the saloon door banged open and Dutch walked out, flanked by Arthur and John. All three men held their empty hands in the air.

“I’m Dutch Van der Linde,” Dutch calmly said to the men. “It sounds like there’s been a terrible misunderstanding, gentlemen. I’m afraid I do not know this Mr. Cornwall.” The group of men in the street leered at him. Arthur glanced over and locked eyes with Ellie, his eyebrows raising in surprise at finding her there. “Now, I don’t know what type of information you have been given, gentlemen,” Dutch continued. “But I can assure you, it is false.” He continued talking while Arthur gave John a pointed look and nodded in Ellie’s direction. John glanced over at her and his face clouded, then he looked back to Arthur. In the span of a few seconds, the two men appeared to have a wordless conversation, then they turned their attention back to the group of men in the street. 

"Cut the shit, Van der Linde," the bald man said. "You're comin' with us, one way or another." The silence stretched out into the afternoon. It seemed Dutch was done talking. The street was deserted now, except for the group of men and the little assembly on the porch. Then, everything seemed to happen at once. One of the men standing to the right of the bald man raised his rifle and fired, hitting a porch beam and blowing splinters of wood everywhere. Dutch and Arthur drew their guns so quickly, so smoothly it was as though their revolvers were attached to the ends of their arms. They began firing into the street. The sound was thunderous, echoing inside Ellie's head. The smell of smoke instantly filled the air. Ellie felt a puff of wind whoosh by her head and heard a crack somewhere off to the left. She realized the men in the street were all shooting at the saloon now, but still she could not move.

From nowhere something large hit her from the side, roughly knocking her down and covering her body. She tried to get up and couldn't, the weight smothering her. Then it lifted and someone yelled "Move!" into her ear. She realized it was John, pushing her to crawl to the end of the porch while he shielded her. She scraped her way to the edge, then they rolled off together and slid against the side of the saloon. John's weapon was drawn and he was firing from behind the cover of the wall. "Go! Go!" he yelled at her, gesturing to the back of the building. She ran blindly, not knowing where to go, a sob catching in her throat as she imagined the men gunning her down in the back as she fled. She saw the wagon behind the store, right where Sean had left it, although something wasn't right - one of the horses was missing and the other was unhitched. She glanced back at John. He was crouched behind the side of the saloon, looking savage and terrible, shooting into the street over and over again. She approached the horse, which was prancing wildly and rolling its eyes at the incessant gunfire. Ellie put her hands on its neck, speaking in low tones.

Then John was running to her, jumping up onto the horse and reaching down to pull her up behind him. They were galloping off, away from Valentine, faster and faster, the sound of gunfire dying away. Without a saddle, she struggled to keep her balance. She hugged John as tightly as she could, pressing her face into his back, wrapping her legs tightly around the horse. They flew down the main road, then veered onto a trail that snaked up into the forest north of town. Eventually, he steered the horse off the trail and into the trees, where they had to slow to a trot. They rode this way for close to half an hour, John constantly looking behind them and listening for pursuers. Ellie did not dare to make a sound. Finally, he stopped next to a stream to let the horse drink. He swung his leg up and over the horse's neck, sliding down easily, then reached up to help Ellie dismount. Her legs felt shaky on the ground.

“The others?” Ellie asked. Her voice seemed to come from far away. 

“They made it out. I saw Dutch and Arthur ridin’ hard out of town toward the east.” He rubbed his eyes. 

“Sean and Karen?”

“He got her out the back before things went down.” Ellie sighed with relief. She realized that Sean had been the one to unhitch the horses from the wagon, and had likely used the other horse to get Karen to safety.

“Are you okay?” Ellie asked.

John rounded on her. “What the hell do you think you were doin’?” he yelled. “Christ, Ellie, you coulda been shot dead!” He started pacing, looking up every few steps to glare at her. Her mouth fell open. She was not sure what reaction she had expected, but it certainly had not been a dressing down. “What the hell were you doin’ in town, anyway? With that jackass MacGuire? He’s got about as much sense as a doorknob. And Karen never met a damn bottle she didn’t like.” He stopped pacing and frowned at her. “And then, right in the middle of a god-damned shoot out, you’re just sittin’ there enjoyin’ the view!” 

“I guess I froze,” Ellie finally said. “It was my first shoot out, you know.” John narrowed his eyes at her, but after a moment his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"Next time, just don't go wanderin' off," he said, his voice softer. "It's not safe to be alone." Ellie nodded and he looked off through the trees. "We need to get back to camp. We'll have to give Valentine a wide berth." He mounted the horse again and pulled Ellie up behind him. With the adrenaline gone from her body, she suddenly felt awkward, not knowing where to put her hands or how close to sit. But once the horse began to move, she had to grab his waist and pull herself tight to him to keep her balance.

They did not talk during the long ride to camp. John stayed to the trees, doubling back several times. The sunlight was nearly gone when they finally spotted the familiar hitching post under the oak tree where Ellie had started her day. It seemed as though ages had passed since then. They dismounted and Ellie gripped John’s arm before he could walk away. “Thank you, John,” she said. His face was shrouded with shadows from the trees above, his eyes hidden by the fading twilight. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied. She dropped her hand and they walked into camp together. 


	6. Chapter 6

It had been a week since the attack in Valentine and Dutch had forbidden anyone from going near town. Many of the men had been dispatched to the south and east to investigate potential relocation options. A tightness stretched over the camp, pulling on everyone and keeping moods anxious, conversations curt. One evening Ellie overhead Molly lecturing Tilly in a smug and self-important tone, insisting that Dutch had told her they’d be heading to Scarlet Meadows soon. Ellie had never been that far east. She approached Arthur after supper that night, hoping to get some clarity.

“Arthur? Can I speak with you?”

He stood up from his spot around the fire. “Of course.” 

She led him over to the wagons so they could talk privately. “Is the gang really moving south?”

“That’s the plan,” he said. “Tomorrow I’m headin’ down to Rhodes to check things out.” 

“You are?” Ellie asked, perking up. She seized on the opportunity. “Do you think I could come with you?”

Arthur frowned. “Come with me? After your little adventure in Valentine? I don’t know, Ellie…” 

“Please, Arthur,” she begged. “Everything’s so tense right now, I just feel like this place is closing in on me. I can’t breathe.” He looked down, his brow furrowed. “And it wouldn’t just be an escape,” she plunged ahead. “There’s supposedly an herb that grows down in that area… my father used to talk about it. The natives claim it fights infection when you mix it up with a few other ingredients. I’m fairly certain I could identify it if I saw it. I could collect some and see how well it works.” The justification wasn’t entirely untrue; she _was_ interested in the herb. But, more than anything, she just wanted to get out for a while. 

Arthur considered her for a moment, then relented. “All right, you can come,” he said. “We’ll leave first thing in the mornin’. It’s a bit of a trip so we’ll likely be stayin’ there overnight.” Ellie smiled and thanked him, then left to turn in for the night. 

The next morning, Ellie met Arthur by the horses. He had saddled up a tall palomino for her and was adjusting the stirrups so she could ride comfortably. “What’s his name?” she asked. 

“This here is Otis,” replied Arthur. “He’s sturdy and he’ll take good care of you.” Arthur turned to face Ellie and his eyes focused on something over her shoulder. “Johnny boy,” he said in a tone of acknowledgement. Ellie quickly turned to see John walking up, lugging his saddle. 

“Where are you going?” she blurted out. 

“Rhodes,” he replied matter-of-factly. He stopped and took in her shocked face. “That okay with you?” he jeered, amused at her reaction. “Didn’t you tell the doctor that I was comin’ along, Arthur? I think she’s surprised.”

Ellie faltered. “I just… it’s just unexpected, that’s all.” She lifted herself into the saddle and waited for the two men. Her excitement for the trip had been replaced by a deep sense of uncertainty. 

*******************************************

They had been on the road for about an hour. The ride was pleasant and the weather clear. Ellie breathed the warm air deeply, enjoying the feel of the sun on her cheeks. 

“Slow down, there, cowboy,” Arthur called out to John, who kept riding ahead and then having to wait for them to catch up. “You in a hurry?”

“Well, we may as well get there!” John shot back.

Arthur shook his head. “John is always in a hurry, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he said loudly to Ellie, smiling as John rolled his eyes and huffed about in his saddle. “You know, even when we first took him in… what were you then, John? Thirteen?”

“Twelve,” John called over his shoulder.

“Even then, John boy was just rearin’ to go,” Arthur said. His tone was teasing, but Ellie could see true affection on Arthur’s face. “Once, he was probably 17 or so, he came into Armadillo with me and Dutch. We were fixin’ to find a new score, and John went and started shit with some of the locals. They cornered us in an alley and he just couldn’t keep still, had to come flyin’ out at them, guns blazin’. There was, what, seven of them? They all dropped like flies.” Arthur threw his head back and laughed deeply as he reminisced. 

“Yeah, yeah, old man, just get the story over with,” John said roughly. 

“So we get back to camp the next day and John’s tellin’ everybody how he gunned down seven men all by himself. It was probably a week later he figures out me and Dutch were the ones gunnin’ them all down, shootin’ from behind him as he charged.” Ellie burst out laughing and looked to John. She was surprised to see he was laughing along with her. A sudden ache seized her as she took in his smile.

“The only reason you were able to take them out was because I was distractin’ them, old man,” John said. The trio rode a little farther in happy silence. “You know,” John began again, “if you want to tell stories, grandpa, maybe we should tell Miss Barton about your yellow-haired feller down in Blackwater.” Arthur just smiled and looked out at the horizon.

Ellie looked from Arthur to John and back with anticipation. “Well, you have to tell me now,” she pleaded. 

“You heard the lady, Arthur.” John chuckled. “I have to tell her now!” He slowed his horse a bit until he was riding next to Ellie. “We were down in Blackwater, lookin’ to stir up some work. So we’re at the saloon, workin’ the crowd, and Arthur… well, he’d been carryin’ a bottle with him all afternoon so he was good and ripped. He’s talkin’ with this feller at the bar, tall guy with yellow hair, real long, yellow beard… this guy was distinctive lookin’. After a while, Arthur comes back over to us and says he’s got this amazin’ tip and we’re gonna score big. This yellow-haired feller is gonna dig up some information about a stagecoach carryin’ a lot of cash.” 

They were all riding together now, Ellie between the two men. The horses easily kept pace with one another, leaving the riders to absorb themselves in the story.

“We had to go back the next night so Arthur could meet this man again, get the information,” John explained. “We’re in the door five seconds and Arthur’s headin’ for the bar. He goes up to the man and starts askin’ him for the particulars on the stagecoach. The man just looks at Arthur like he’s a ravin’ lunatic, and turns his back on him. So they go on like this awhile, Arthur harrassin’ the man for the information he was promised, and the man just backin’ away, tryin’ to ignore him. Eventually, Arthur hauls off and beats the man senseless. He walks back over to us, so mad he could bite himself. Then we all start laughin’ and turn him toward the other end the saloon - his yellow-haired feller is sitting in the back, playin’ poker!”

“He beat up the wrong man?” Ellie asked.

“Not just the wrong man,” John continued. “The man he beat was short, dark-haired, and dressed like a damn banker!” They all laughed together. Ellie looked over at John and he looked back, smiling. After a while he said, “Well?”

“Well, what?” Ellie asked.

“What about you? You heard stories about us, let’s hear something about you, missy!” 

Ellie smiled self consciously. She felt hot under John’s gaze. “He’s got a point, you know,” Arthur said.

Ellie thought for a minute. “Well, Father and I spent some time up in Oregon. We were up there for about a year, maybe a year and a half. There was a local woman, they called her Mad Mary. She lived in a cabin out in the woods by herself; her husband had died years ago. There were rumors that she had killed him over some argument, but I doubt that was true. Nonetheless, Mad Mary was… let’s just say she was pretty eccentric. I don’t think she bathed much. You could smell her coming a mile away.”

“Sounds like John here,” Arthur inserted. 

“Anyway,” Ellie went on, “she believed a lot of crazy things. Claimed she saw lights moving around in the sky, said little people lived up there and they’d promised to take her away someday.”

“Well, this just got interestin’,” John chuckled.

“One day I was helping Father clean up after a patient, and here comes Mad Mary, barging through the door. She always looked wild, but this time she was in quite the state. She told my father that her husband had returned, he was back from the dead. Father was so patient with her.” Ellie paused as she remembered her father’s voice, soothing the woman. Grief momentarily clutched at her chest. After a minute, she continued. “Father calmly explained that her husband was dead and had been for years, but she was insistent. She kept saying that she could prove it, that her husband was back at the cabin, living with her.”

“She eventually left, but Father was pretty worried about her. We went to check on her later that afternoon. We were walking up to the cabin when she ran out and told us we had to come in and meet her husband. So, we both go in and there, in the middle of the room, is a goat, draped with an old jacket and a cowboy hat strapped to its head.” 

“Oh come on, now. You’re tellin’ tales, girl!” John laughed. Ellie shook her head.

“It’s true, it’s true!” she said through giggles. “Mary had even cut holes in the hat so the horns could poke through.” Both men roared in amusement. Ellie smiled and thought of her father as their laughter slowly died away. She missed him terribly. She wondered what she would be doing now if he was still alive, then realized with shock she had been with the gang for almost four months. Wasn’t she only going to stay for a while? Was she part of the gang now? _I’m not an outlaw_ , Ellie thought to herself. Yet, here she was, accompanying two outlaws to Rhodes, playing doctor to an entire gang of outlaws. She thought of how they had welcomed her into their makeshift family, how they treated her with respect. A cold thought slipped through her. _What would Father think?_ She could picture his face, disappointed and stern. Ellie remained deep in thought for the rest of the ride. 

*******************************************

They stopped a half-mile outside Rhodes, near a field where Ellie could see pockets of the herb she was seeking, growing amongst the grass. John rode ahead while Arthur waited for her to collect as much as she needed. She made quick work of the job, then followed Arthur into town. 

“John and I need to do some askin’ around and then go see if there are any safe places to set up camp,” he told her. “You go get us a couple of rooms at the saloon. We’ll meet you there for supper.” Ellie nodded. “And Ellie,” Arthur added, “stay out of trouble.” She turned and headed for the hotel. It felt extravagant to splurge on rooms until she opened the door and saw the condition of said rooms. With the rest of the afternoon free, she spent it walking around the small town, exploring the shops and watching the people. She discovered a doctor’s office toward the end of the main street and impulsively decided to go inside.

A small, wiry man with gray hair looked up at her as she entered. “How can I help you, miss?” he asked in a high, reedy voice.

“Hello. I was curious about your office,” Ellie said, suddenly realizing she had not thought this through. Why _was_ she here? The man looked her over, then took off his glasses.

“Well, here it is,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the room. It was small and alarmingly dirty for a doctor’s office. The cabinet behind him was full of glass bottles haphazardly stacked on the shelves, some leaking their contents onto the wood. Behind him, the door to another room stood open and she could spy a large table in the middle of it, covered with old bloodstains.

“You know, I was hoping to get some work as a doctor’s assistant down in Saint Denis,” she ventured as she looked about the place, trying to seem casual.

“You? Helpin’ out a doctor in Saint Denis?” replied the doctor incredulously. Ellie narrowed her eyes at the little man. She immediately knew what he was thinking. She’d been dealing with this since the first time she had joined her father in his examination room. 

“You don’t think I can help out because I’m a woman?” she said, her voice severe.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find work down in Saint Denis,” replied the man. “They aren’t very particular about _who_ does _what_ down in that hole.” Ellie turned and stormed out of the office, a hot bubble of anger rising in her chest. She continued walking to calm herself down. No one ever trusted that a woman could treat their ailments. She stopped in front of the general store window and looked at her reflection. Of course, some people _had_ accepted her as a doctor, right from the jump. Ellie sighed and walked on.

*******************************************

Ellie met Arthur and John at the saloon that evening. They were all exhausted and ready for a good meal. Ellie went to find a table near the back while the men ordered. The food was surprisingly good and the whisky was tolerable. Ellie couldn’t help but notice how different John acted when they weren’t in camp. He was relaxed, he was talkative, he was funny. And he looked her in the eye. Arthur and John spent most of the evening retelling stories about various jobs they’d worked, close calls with the law, and run-ins with the O’Driscolls. 

As the night wore on, Ellie began feeling a little tipsy. She peered at the bottle of whisky sitting on their table and noticed it was almost empty. She could tell the men were feeling the alcohol, too; their voices continued to get louder, their laughter deeper, their teasing rougher. At one point, Arthur got up. “Gotta relieve myself,” he said as he wandered toward the door. Ellie took another sip from her glass and looked at John.

“So,” he began. “You and Arthur.” She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“Me and Arthur?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. 

“Yeah,” John said, leaning back and crossing his arms. Her thoughts instantly raced to how that chest looked without a shirt. She struggled to pull her attention back to what he was saying.

“What about me and Arthur?” she said.

“You two gonna make it official? Finally let him start sleepin’ in that tent with you?” John’s voice was taunting, but his eyes were vulnerable, almost hurt.

Ellie couldn’t help but break out laughing. John sat up straight, confusion wrinkling his brow. “John…” she said, then erupted into another fit of giggles. Finally, she calmed herself. “Look, John, it’s not like that. Arthur is my friend.”

John narrowed his eyes at her. “You all don’t look like friends. You’re always talkin’ and laughin’ together.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Yes, because that’s what friends do together. Honestly, he feels more like a second father to me than anything.”

John considered her, his eyes slowly growing wide, excited. She thought he looked like a little boy with a secret. Suddenly, she felt a hand grab her own under the table and squeeze her fingers gently. “So, you ain’t… you ain’t with anybody then?” John asked. She had never heard his voice sound so soft, so hopeful. She could barely hear him over the hum of the saloon crowd.

“No, I’m not with anybody,” she replied. She squeezed his hand back, knowing that she had to ask the next question on her lips, as much as she didn’t want to. “How are things with Abigail?” 

His eyes went dark at the mention of her name. She felt his hand slowly pull away from hers. “They ain’t good,” he said curtly. “They ain’t never been good.” He looked down and she started to reach out to touch his arm, to offer him some comfort. She saw Arthur approaching the table and pulled her hand back. 

“We should probably get some sleep if we want to ride out early tomorrow,” Arthur announced as he sat down. There was silence at the table. Arthur looked from Ellie to John. Suddenly, John stood up.

“Good night,” he said brusquely and walked off through the saloon crowd.

Arthur sighed. “Now what happened? Did you hurt cowboy’s feelings?”

Ellie turned to Arthur. “Arthur, I need to ask you something and I want you to be straight with me.” The smile died on Arthur’s lips as he realized how serious Ellie was. 

“Go on, then,” he said.

“Is… is Jack really John’s son?” she asked, her hand involuntarily coming up to cover her mouth as soon as she’d said it.

Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Who’s been talkin’ your ear off, then?”

“No one,” Ellie replied. “Well, Karen hinted at something once when we were sewing. And then I overheard John and Abigail arguing in the woods one day. John was saying he and Abigail both knew that Jack wasn’t his. And that the rest of the camp knew, too.” 

“Well, he ain’t wrong there,” said Arthur, swinging back another shot of whisky. Ellie looked at him, shocked. “Don’t look at me like that, I know it ain’t right. Look, she was with damn near every man in camp when she first came around. And when she was with John she was still whorin’ outside camp, too. But when she got pregnant, she was bound and determined it was John’s. Most of us knew it was unlikely, the timing didn’t seem quite right. But she was smart. She knew John. He ran off for a while there, but in the end he came back, just like we all knew he would.”

“But that’s so…” Ellie’s voice died away. “They don’t seem to enjoy one another very much.”

“Tell me about it,” said Arthur. “Ah, John’s the same as when we first picked him up… just dyin’ to please. He don’t know how to make her happy.”

“She can’t be happy, she’s trapped,” Ellie realized. Arthur raised his eyebrows at her. “She needed to protect her child so she made her choice and now she’s stuck with it. They’re both stuck with it.” Ellie felt an overwhelming wave of sadness for Abigail, and for John. 

Arthur looked at Ellie for a long while. Then, he raised his shot glass to her and tipped back one more drink. “Well, I need to get myself to bed, Miss Barton.”

She sighed and nodded. They walked upstairs together. He was sharing a room with John at the top of the stairs; her room was down the hall, around the corner. “Good night, Arthur,” she called to him.

“Good night, Ellie,” he said as he slipped through the door. She continued on and turned down the hallway, pulling up short as she saw a familiar, lanky figure leaning against the wall next to her room. 

“What do you want?” she asked, approaching the door.

“You know what I want,” he said. His voice was low and insistent. She froze with her hand on the doorknob, the other holding the key. Then, she unlocked the door and he followed her inside.

There was no more talk. As soon as the door closed, he pushed her up against it, pressing himself into her. Their lips were inches apart. He smelled like whisky, tobacco, and horses. She leaned forward and kissed him, slowly at first, then urgently. His hands were on her face, the skin of his fingers rough. He used his knee to nudge her legs apart, then ground his hips against hers. She felt the hardness of him and wrapped her arms around his waist, her fingers finding their way under his shirt and moving up his back. He kissed her even more deeply. She could feel his impatience and it matched her own, a steady drumbeat pushing them forward.

They each began pulling their clothes off, their lips still together, moving toward the bed in the corner. Once her dress was off, Ellie pulled away to remove her undergarments while he fumbled with his boots and pants. She sat on the bed and pulled the pins out of her hair, letting her brown tresses fall to her shoulders. She looked up at him and he was on her in an instant, his mouth and hands everywhere at once. She whimpered as his skin slid across her own, feeling as though she could never get close enough to him.

He groaned and pulled back. “We should slow down. I ain’t gonna be able to control myself.” But Ellie didn’t care, the drumbeat was growing louder and louder in her ears. She pulled his face up to hers and whispered, “Now.” She shifted her hips underneath him and he entered her, filling her with heat and pressure. He began pushing into her over and over again. Ellie moaned, clutching at his back and arms, pulling him into her harder, faster. His lips moved along her neck and collarbone, murmuring her name. In one quick motion he reached down and hooked his arms under each of her knees, pushing her up, thrusting and filling her completely. Her eyes rolled back and she reached up to touch his face. Suddenly he cried out and heaved into her once, twice more, then collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath. 

After a few minutes, he rolled off to her side and kissed her cheek. “I’ve been wantin’ to do that since the first time you walked into camp,” he sighed. 

Ellie remembered that day. It seemed so long ago. “You could barely look at me, let alone talk to me,” she said.

John raised an eyebrow at her and grinned. “Well, we ain’t all the eloquent type,” he replied. He propped himself up with his left arm and reached his right hand down between her legs. Ellie looked over at him in surprise as he began caressing her. “You think I’m gonna forget about you, missy?” he said teasingly. “I may be quick on the draw but I always hit my mark.” She exhaled slowly as his fingers, sure and unhurried, moved in a steady circle. She could feel him watching her face as she writhed under his hand. His fingers began moving faster, then faster still. She was so whipped up, it didn’t take long and the release began, pulsing from her core in waves throughout the rest of her body. 

Once it was over, he chuckled softly and pulled her tight to him once more. They laid next to one another for a time, their breath slowing in sync. John slowly ran his hand up and down her arm and pressed his face into her hair, breathing deeply. “You know,” he whispered, “I thought you was supposed to be a proper lady.” 

Ellie smiled. “Oh, I’m not scared of getting a little dirty,” she replied. She could feel his hardness growing, pressing into her leg. 

“Well, mount up, little lady,” he growled, pulling her on top of him. “Let’s try this again.” 

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

After they had exhausted themselves several times over, Ellie lay in John’s arms, tracing her fingers along the scars on his cheek, his nose, his lip. She took in every detail of his face. “So we’re really moving down here?” she asked.

“Sounds like it,” replied John. “Arthur found something east of here, next to a river. Nice enough spot, but it’s muggier than hell.” 

“If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?” she asked.

John thought for a moment. “Probably farther west. Oregon. California maybe.”

“It’s beautiful there,” Ellie said. 

“It’s beautiful here,” John replied, staring at her. She smiled and trailed her hand along his chest. “You know,” she said slowly, “I was pretty disappointed when I didn’t get to rub that medicine into you.”

“Oh, were you now?” John chuckled.

“Yes, I was. I’m pretty good at rubbing things,” she teased, her hand moving down his stomach.

“I’d say you’re better than pretty good,” said John. “More like a bonafide expert.” She giggled.

“What would you do out west?” she asked, her fingers lazily moving up and down his thigh.

“I don’t know,” he pondered. “Abigail always wanted to get some land, try out ranchin’.” She pulled her hand back and stiffened as he said Abigail’s name. He put his hand to his forehead, realizing his mistake. “Dammit! I’m sorry, Ellie. I just… I wasn’t even thinkin’.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine,” she said, her voice hollow. There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, she asked, “Is that what you want, John?”

“What?”

“To buy some land and ranch?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He stayed quiet a while longer. “I guess I don’t really know what I want. But I don’t think I wanna keep livin’ the life I’ve been leading.”

She finally blurted out what she had been wanting to say. “I know Jack’s not your son, John.”

He looked at her, his expression suddenly hard. He sat up and pulled away. “What do you know about it?” he asked warily.

“Well, Arthur said...”

“Oh, the old man said, did he? What the hell does he know?” John scowled at the wall.

“It wasn’t Arthur’s fault. I asked him about it. The truth is, I overheard you and Abigail arguing about it back at camp.”

“Well, he ain’t my son. Not unless babies are takin’ a damn year to come out now.” John sighed deeply and looked at Ellie. When he spoke again, he sounded defeated. “Look, he may not be my son, but everybody seems to act like he is. What am I supposed to do? Just up and leave?”

“What about Abigail?” she asked. 

“Whatever we might’ve had… it’s been gone a long time.” His voice was quiet, mournful. After a time, he reached out and cupped her face in his hand. “There is someone who’s got my heart, though.” 

She wanted to be upset with him but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face. “Oh, is that a fact?”

He smiled back. “It is a fact. Goes by the name of One-Tooth Sally. She lives over in them caves by Annesberg.” Ellie erupted with laughter and swatted him playfully on the arm. “That tooth of hers just hangs out of her mouth in the most charmin’ way,” John continued, laughing. They settled back down, their arms wrapped around one another. 

“I love you, Ellie,” he said suddenly. The words hung in the air between them.

“John,” she said slowly. “You haven’t really known me that long.”

“I’ve known you long enough,” he replied earnestly. She looked into his eyes.

“I think I love you, too.” 

He pulled her close and they lay there together in silence. Eventually, she heard his breathing even out and knew he had fallen asleep. She didn’t want to let go of him, ever. She hadn’t known she could be as happy as she had felt that night, as happy as she’d been that whole day in fact. But his words echoed in her head…  _ What am I supposed to do? Just up and leave? _ Her mind spun furiously, turning the situation over and over, trying to find a way in which it could work. Sleep was a long time coming. 

*******************************************

The three of them met downstairs for breakfast the next morning. Arthur gave John and Ellie a thorough side-eye as they came down the stairs together. “There you are, Little John,” he said. “Thought you might’ve gotten lost last night.” John just rolled his eyes and headed for a table. No one talked as they ate their breakfast. Arthur focused on his food, while John and Ellie kept stealing glances at each other. Ellie felt for John’s hand under the table and found it. She took a deep breath to calm herself, hoping that he could understand what she was about to do.

“We’re not that far from Saint Denis,” she began. “I was thinking… well, I was thinking I could catch a train and head down there, scope it out a bit.” Both men stopped chewing and stared at her.

“By yourself?” John asked. Ellie nodded. “Well, the answer’s no,” he said, turning back to his food and acting as though the conversation was over.

“I’m not asking,” Ellie said firmly. “I’m doing it.”

“Ellie,” said Arthur, interrupting John before he could go off half-cocked. “Do you really think that’s wise? What exactly are you gonna do there, anyway?”

“I’m going to look for a job, a place to live,” Ellie replied. Underneath the table, John snatched his hand away. She looked at him; his face looked as though she had struck him. 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, Ellie?” he yelled. Several patrons turned to gawk at their table, craning their necks for a better look.

“Keep it down, John,” Arthur warned.

“This was never supposed to be a permanent thing," Ellie said in a hushed tone. "I said I’d stay for a while and it’s been a while. It’s time for me to move on. I’m not an outlaw.” Her voice was shaking. She could feel the tears starting as she watched John’s face screw up with anger and hurt.

“You’re leavin’?” he said. “After last night?”

“John!” she chided, glancing over at Arthur.

“What? You think he doesn’t know what’s goin’ on?” John leaned toward her. “We have last night and then you’re just gonna up and leave? After what we said to each other? Was that just some lie?” He sounded on the verge of tears. 

Ellie balled her fists in her lap. “I meant what I said, John. All of it. But I don’t belong in a gang. And I can’t… I can’t stand by and watch you play family with another woman. It'll tear me to pieces,” Ellie finished. 

John was silent. She wanted him to pound the table and declare that he was leaving Abigail, that he was hers and hers alone. But he didn’t. He simply sat there, looking at her. Then he rose out of his chair. “I've heard about enough of this,” he said. “I’m headin’ out.” He strode across the saloon and through the doors, Ellie watching his back as he walked away. She started gasping for breath, feeling dizzy. Arthur grabbed her and pulled her up. 

“Come on, let’s go get some air,” he said, guiding her out the door. They went around to the side of the saloon for some privacy, then sat there together for a long while, Arthur holding her hand and waiting as she cried herself out. 

When she had finally calmed down, Arthur asked, “You ain’t serious, are you Ellie? You really leavin’?”

“Yes, I’m serious.” She put her face in her hands. “Arthur, I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave John. But, there’s no future for me with the gang. Last night I realized John's not going to leave Abigail, no matter whether Jack is his or not. And I'm not going to be anyone's secret mistress."

Arthur slowly nodded. “Yeah, I understand. I don't like it, but I understand. Dutch is gonna be madder than a hornet. He really took a shine to you.” 

“He won’t come after me, will he?” Ellie asked.

“Don’t worry,” Arthur replied. “I’ll take care of Dutch.”

“I liked him, too,” said Ellie. “I liked them all. Well, maybe not Micah.” Arthur snorted. “Will you tell them good-bye for me?” 

Arthur nodded. “You ain’t concerned about them O’Dricolls, huh?”

Ellie shook her head. “No, I’m not. At this point, if they track me down, well… they track me down. I don’t have anything left to lose.”

Arthur grunted. “Me and Dutch… well, we mighta overstated the O’Driscoll threat a bit.” 

“I figured,” she said.

“It was a way to get you to camp, then to get you to stay on,” he admitted. “They been scattered for a time now. If they decide to hit anybody, it’ll be Dutch.”

They fell silent, Arthur’s arm around Ellie, her head resting on his shoulder. When he spoke again, his voice was strangely tight. “You know, I always thought it’d be real nice to have a daughter.” 

Ellie smiled without looking up at him. “Really?” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Someone to spoil. Someone to teach how to shoot and hunt. Someone who could come along on rides across the countryside when I’m plannin’ my next heist.” 

“I’m going to miss you, too, Arthur.”

*******************************************

Ellie arrived in Saint Denis late that afternoon and immediately inquired about the nearest doctor’s office. The train ride had been unbearable. She had felt trapped in the crowded car and could think of nothing but John… the smell of him, the feel of his scars under her finger, the wounded look in his eyes when she’d said she was leaving. As she received directions from the train station attendant, she willed herself to focus on the task before her. 

She found the doctor’s office easily enough. Bracing herself, she went through the front door. The office was larger than the one in Rhodes, but not by much. It was definitely much cleaner. Supplies were neatly organized on the shelves behind the counter and several books were stacked on a desk in the corner. She could hear someone in a back room, humming.

“Hello?” she called out.

“Just a moment!” a deep voice answered. Several minutes later, a stocky man with close-cropped brown hair appeared, wiping his hands with a towel. “Can I help you, miss?”

“Are you the doctor?” she asked.

“I am,” he nodded. “Dr. Milford.” He held out his hand and she shook it. 

“Dr. Milford, I was wondering if…” She stopped. What exactly was she expecting here? That she would just walk into a random doctor’s office and he’d give her a job? “Actually, this is a bit of a long shot,” she admitted, her face coloring. 

“Miss, I can assure you, I receive all types of odd requests in this office,” Dr. Milford replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, I was wondering if you needed an assistant?” she asked hopefully. Dr. Milford just stared at her, so she plunged ahead. “I have experience. I worked for my father - a doctor - for many years. Since I was a young girl, in fact. I can stitch people up, I can deliver babies, I can mix up medicine, I can assist with all types of surgeries.” 

He considered her carefully for a moment. “Well,” he said, “it just so happens my last assistant went and got himself thrown in jail for instigating fights at the saloon. And the one before that got drunk and drowned himself in the Lannahechee River.” He squinted at her. “You don’t have a habit of engaging in fistfights or drunkenly wandering along rivers, I presume?” She shook her head earnestly. “Good,” he continued. “But we’d have to have you on a trial basis at first.” She could hardly believe her ears. Did this really work? 

“Oh, of course! Of course!” she replied enthusiastically. “I can start right now! I can work whenever, any hours. I just got to town, actually.”

He nodded. “I see. Do you have a place to stay?”

“Not yet,” she replied.

“Would you like to have dinner with my wife and me tonight? You’re welcome to stay with us for the evening.”

*******************************************

The Milfords turned out to be good, honest people. They let Ellie stay with them until she was able to secure an apartment near the office. Her new home was cramped and she could hear her neighbors arguing through the walls, but it was hers and it was cheap. She was able to make an impression on Dr. Milford her first day on the job, assisting with a bullet removal. He seemed pleased with his choice to take her on. 

After a few weeks, Ellie finally started to relax and find a groove. The city was loud, crowded, and oppressively hot. She longed for some crisp air and wide open spaces. But, she was enjoying her work. Dr. Milford proved to be a patient and informed teacher, showing her a new technique for setting broken bones and introducing her to some of the latest medicines he had shipped in from the east coast. 

The nights were a different story. She often thought of Arthur, and sometimes the others... Dutch, Mary-Beth, Tilly, Uncle. But mostly she thought of John and the stricken look she had put on his face, the feel of his skin moving against her own, the sound of his voice gently teasing her. Most nights she would weep bitterly until she fell asleep from exhaustion. Then, the morning would come and she would lose herself in her work once again.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - This chapter contains major spoilers for the end of RDR2. I don't follow the story line exactly, but a lot of major plot points are revealed here.

_ TWO YEARS LATER…. _

Ellie walked briskly down the street toward Dr. Milford’s office, her arms full of supplies. The doctor had been running low on various items and she had volunteered to go out and fetch more from the market. The heat of the city pressed on her from all sides and she could feel drops of perspiration sliding down her back. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the air here; it was suffocating. She entered the office to see Dr. Milford packing up his bag.

“Heading out?” she asked, setting down her bundle. 

“Yes,” replied Dr. Milford. “House call in the west district. Seems someone has come down with a nasty fever.”

“Would you like me to come along?” 

Dr. Milford thought for a moment. “No, I think I’ll manage. You stay here and finish cleaning up for me.”

Ellie nodded and waved good-bye, then began to unpack. She sang softly to herself as she put the supplies neatly on the shelves. Once she had finished, she went into the back room and surveyed the mortar and pestle on the counter, covered with the residue of whatever concoction Dr. Milford had mixed up for the fever patient. She wet a towel in the basin and began the work of scrubbing the equipment clean. 

As she finished up, she heard the front door open. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” she called. She washed her hands in the basin and dried them, then walked into the front room, pushing her hair back from her face. She saw a man standing with his back to her, looking out the front window. His hat was pulled down low and he had a satchel slung over one shoulder and two saddlebags hanging from the other. As he came into focus, her breath caught in her throat and the walls seemed to momentarily close in. 

“John?” she whispered. He turned slowly and she blinked, unbelieving. He was here, in front of her. She stepped forward, feeling as though she was in a dream.

“Ellie,” he said.

“How are you here?” she stammered. Ellie eyed him closely. He looked as though much more than two years had passed since they had last seen one another. There were deep lines around his eyes and dark circles underneath them. His clothing was covered in filth and hanging off his frame. He looked exhausted. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Ellie, it’s good to see you.”

She smiled. “It’s good to see you, too, John. Why have you come?”

“I wanted to see you, Ellie.” He stopped, seemingly unsure of what to say. “I need to tell you some things. Is there somewhere we can talk?” 

She nodded. “Dr. Milford will be back soon. Then we could head over to the saloon." 

He frowned, then glanced out the window again. “I’m not sure that’ll work. I, uh… well, it’d be best if I kept outta sight for the time bein’.” His voice was urgent.

She suddenly understood. “Of course,” she said. “We can go to my apartment. It’s just down the street. Give me a minute.” She hurried to the back room and removed her apron, her hands shaking wildly. She quickly checked her reflection in the small mirror that hung above the basin, then pinched her cheeks and tried to smooth down her hair. She returned to find John looking out the window once again. “I’m ready. We can go.”

“There a back door to this place?” he asked. She nodded and locked the front door, then led him through the office to the back. They slipped out into an alley and walked quickly to where it opened onto the street. Question after question flew through Ellie’s mind, but she remained quiet, acutely aware of John walking beside her. Once they reached the street, she turned right and walked another block. “This is it,” she said, motioning to her building. Once inside, they climbed the stairs quickly and made their way to the end of the hall and into her apartment. Safely behind the closed door, she turned to him and all of her questions died on her lips. She was still unsure this was really happening. 

“Please, have a seat,” she finally said, gesturing toward a small table with two chairs. He let his satchel and saddle bags slide to the floor with a thud and slowly lowered himself into a chair. “Would you like something to drink?” He shook his head. 

“I just can’t believe it’s you, John,” she said as she sat down across from him. “How are you? How is Arthur? Is he in town? Dutch?” John bowed his head into his hands and remained silent. “Is it the sheriff you’re hiding from?” she asked. She could see his jaw working. An icy blade of fear suddenly sliced through her… something was very wrong. “John? What is it? Why are you here?”

John looked up. “Arthur’s dead, Ellie.” 

Ellie stared at him, dazed. “What?” She had to have heard him wrong.

“He’s dead,” John whispered, then ran his fingers through his grimy hair. “Dutch and Micah - they killed him.” 

She couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. How could this be? Was John ill? Drunk? She could feel her heart racing, the sensation of something sliding out of place in her head. She grabbed the edge of the table and breathed deeply, trying to steady herself. After she had left the gang, she and Arthur had written to one another occasionally. His letters had always sounded upbeat, hopeful. She tried to remember the last time she had received a letter from him and realized it had been months.

“How can this be?” she asked.

“It all went to shit, Ellie.” He rubbed his eyes. “Maybe I will have that drink.” She fetched a bottle of gin and poured him a glass. He downed it in one swallow and she refilled it for him. “We kept gettin’ run outta camp every time we settled down. We ended up west of here for a while, place called Shady Belle.” 

She nodded. “I knew you were close for a time. There were mentions of Dutch and some bank robbery in the papers. I wrote to Arthur, asking if he would come visit me, but he said it would be best if he didn’t.” 

John nodded slowly and gestured toward the satchel on the floor. “I know. Arthur, he… well, I have his satchel. He’s got some of your letters in there. That’s how I found you.”

She remembered how excited she had been when she had first figured out that the gang was near, that they were operating in town. She had been so tempted to seek them out, but in the end she had decided to keep her distance. “After the noise died down, I figured you all had moved on,” she said.

“Hosea and Lenny were gunned down here in town,” John continued. She looked shocked. “So they kept that out of the papers,” he spat angrily. “That’s also about the time Arthur got sick.” Ellie looked at John questioningly. Arthur had never mentioned anything about being sick.

“What was wrong with him?” she asked.

“Tuberculosis.” Ellie rubbed her temples, sighing. No wonder he wouldn’t visit her - he hadn’t wanted her to know. 

“With Hosea gone, Dutch just started losin’ it,” John continued. “Goin’ on and on about his plans. Thing was, his plans didn’t make no sense anymore. We were graspin’ at straws, killin’ innocent folk.” He emptied his glass again and she refilled it. 

“We ended up near Annesburg. Arthur told me to be ready to run, he knew it was all gonna fall apart. And that  _ fuckin’ _ Micah!” John’s voice cracked like a whip. “He just wormed his way into Dutch’s head. They turned on us. The last time we went out, I got shot and Dutch left me for dead. I made my way back to camp and found them there, all arguin’ with their guns drawn. Then the Pinkertons showed up and me and Arthur just ran.” Once again, John drained his glass and once again Ellie refilled it.

“We headed west, into the mountains. They were comin’ in from all sides… the Pinkertons, Dutch, Micah. Arthur told me to run for it. He wanted me to get out and try to make a life. He said he didn’t have a future but that I still had a chance to build one. He held them off while I ran. I made it down the mountain, found a horse, and never looked back.”

The room was silent. Ellie was stunned, her mind struggling to process all that John had said. She thought of Arthur, his strong hands and kind words, the way he’d sit back around the campfire and watch over the group. He had always been a rock; she couldn’t imagine him struggling with tuberculosis. She thought of Dutch, clapping Arthur and John on the backs, beaming at them proudly. The tears were falling before she realized it. Of course Arthur had sacrificed himself to save John, she thought to herself. For all of his teasing, she knew Arthur had wanted John to be happy, to go and live his life with his family. 

“What about the rest of the gang?” Ellie asked. “Mary-Beth? Karen?” 

John sighed. “Molly’s dead. Sean and Kieran, too. Micah shot down Mrs. Grimshaw. Other than that, everyone scattered.”

“Are Abigail and Jack with you?” she asked quietly.

“What?” John asked, momentarily confused. “Oh, no. They left before we split from Shady Belle.”

“Left? Where?” Ellie asked.

“Boston,” said John. “Abigail was done. Done with the gang, done with me. Some people snatched Jack for a time. We got him back, but that was the last straw. She heard about some job up in Boston being a seamstress, so she took Jack and left. She reckoned she could get him into some school up there.”

“Oh,” Ellie said in a tiny voice. He had lost everything, then. She remembered a time when the news of Abigail leaving would have made her hopeful, happy even. But right now, it just made her feel hollow inside. John had grown up in the gang and Dutch had been like a father to him, the other men his brothers. And they had betrayed him in the worst way. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I think some folks recognized me on the ride into town. Right now, I just need to lay low for a while. I was hoping…” he looked up at Ellie wearily. “The truth is, I don’t have nowhere to go.”

“You can stay here until it’s safe for you to leave,” she said. He nodded gratefully. “You’re skin and bones. Can I make you some food?” 

“Sure. I’d like to lie down for a bit first.” 

“Of course,” she said. His clothing and skin were covered in dirt from riding hard and he smelled as though he hadn’t bathed in weeks. But she told him to lie down on her little bed in the corner anyway. 

He laid back on the thin pillow and looked over at her. “It’s good to see you, Ellie.” He closed his eyes and was asleep in minutes. She sat at the table for a long time, watching him. Finally, she got up and quietly began making some stew.

*******************************************

John slept through the afternoon and into the night. Eventually, Ellie realized he wasn’t waking up for supper. She changed into her nightgown and looked down at John, sprawled out over the entire bed. She imagined herself nudging him over, lying down, wrapping her arms around his chest, kissing his cheek. Instead, she pulled an extra blanket from a chest at the foot of the bed and made a makeshift bedroll in a corner of the room. It had been a long time since she’d slept on a floor; between the unyielding floorboards and her racing thoughts, she lay awake most of the night. 

“What the hell?” she heard as she opened her eyes the next morning. She sat up quickly and looked toward the bed. John was sitting there, looking at her. “What are you doin’ on the floor? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You were exhausted,” Ellie said.

“Jesus, Ellie, I woulda moved to the floor,” he said, shaking his head. “Makin’ a woman sleep on the floor while I’m lazin’ about on a bed!” 

She ignored his comment and stood up. “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked.

“Better,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Good. There’s leftover stew from last night. I’ll heat it up and make coffee.” She grabbed her dress from the hook on the wall and ducked behind the screen in the corner of the room. As she pulled off her nightgown, she couldn’t help but think of John’s hands on her body, sliding up her arms and into her hair. She willed the image out of her head and pulled her clothes on as quickly as she could.

“There a bathhouse around here?” came John’s voice from beyond the screen.

“Yes, there’s one in the building,” she replied. “Downstairs, in the back.”

She could hear him stand up and walk across the room. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, then the door opened and closed. She finished dressing and prepared breakfast. Once she had the stew on the table and the coffee ready, she sat down, nervously fiddling with the cuff of her dress sleeve and waiting for him to reappear. 

When he returned, his face was clean and his wet hair hung down against the sides of his face. He looked better, but his clothes were still stiff with dirt. He sat at the table and devoured the stew, refilling his bowl three times. After he finished, he sighed deeply, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Damn, I haven’t had a real meal in… I guess I don’t know,” he chuckled. “Thank you.”

“Of course, John,” she replied. They looked at one another, a hundred unsaid things hanging in the air. “Have you decided what you’ll do?” she asked.

“I was thinkin’ I’d head out west. You always said California was real nice,” he said. “No one will be lookin’ for me that far out, especially if I keep quiet for a few years.”

She smiled, imagining him in California with the blue sky above him and the sun shining on his face. “Are you going to start up that ranch?” she asked.

“Not sure. Maybe.” He looked into her eyes. “Whatever I decide to do, I know I’d be a lot happier if you came with me.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his. Had she really heard him say that? “John…” she stammered.

“Come with me, Ellie. I want to build a new life, just like Arthur said. With you.” He stared at her intently. She could feel the familiar heat rising in her stomach. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. In the last day, her emotions had been whipped around in so many directions that she could hardly think straight. But she’d be lying to herself if she said there wasn’t a small part of her that was hoping he had come to her for more than a place to hide out. 

“But… are you going to look for Abigail and Jack?” 

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “No,” he said. “She made it clear when she left, we ain’t gonna have a future together. My future is with you.” 

“This seems so sudden,” she said tentatively. 

“I’ve had plenty of time to think about it,” replied John. “Been thinkin’ about it since I walked outta that saloon in Rhodes. But I understand if you need some time.”

Ellie thought of Dr. Milford and the life she had been trying to carve out in Saint Denis. Did she want to stay? She had fantasized about John returning to her so many times that part of her questioned whether this was really happening. She imagined them heading west together and felt herself rise out of the chair and go to him; it was as though she wasn’t in control of her own body. Then she was in his arms, hugging him, kissing his cheek.

“Yes, I’ll go with you,” she said. She pulled back and looked into his face. “On one condition.” John’s eyebrow raised in question. “Wherever we end up, I want to keep working. I’ve learned so much from Dr. Milford, I’m sure I’ll be able to find a job somewhere.”

He smiled and nodded. “Of course, Ellie.”

“I thought about you every night,” she whispered, holding each of his hands in her own. “The look on your face the last time I saw you...” 

“I was angry, but I came to understand what you were sayin’,” he said. “Of course, Arthur helped a bit on that front.” He smiled and kissed her. His lips were rough and chapped against her own. Kissing him felt like coming home.

She leaned her forehead against his neck. “When should we leave?”

“I’d say a week or so,” he replied. “Things should calm down by then.”

She smiled. “I can’t believe I’m heading back west. With John Marston!”

“Believe it, missy,” he smiled, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I ain’t never lettin’ you go again.”

Her mind began to race. “I don’t have a lot of things, but we’ll still need to find a wagon,” she said. “I have a little money saved. Being a doctor’s assistant pays, but not very much.” Her brow furrowed as she added up the expenses in her head. “It will be tough.”

John laughed. “We’ll make it okay. In fact, we’ll be more than okay,” he said meaningfully. 

“John, what aren’t you telling me?” she asked. 

“Well, I made a few stops on my way to find you,” he said, grinning. He motioned toward the satchel and saddlebags, still on the floor where he had dropped them the previous day. “There wasn’t much in Arthur’s satchel. Some bullets, his journal, letters from you. And a map.” 

John pulled away from her and walked over to the saddlebags, bending down to pick them up. She could see the muscles in his forearms stand out as he carried them over to the table. He reached into one and pulled out a large bar of gold, setting it on the table with a thump.

“Oh, my!” Ellie cried. “Where did you get that?”

“The map,” said John. “Some kind of treasure map, it was. Don’t know where Arthur picked it up.” As he spoke, he reached into the other saddlebag and pulled out two more gold bars, setting them on the table next to the first. 

Ellie’s mouth fell open. “John, that’s a fortune!”

“Damn right, it is!” he said, chuckling. He hugged her close. “Like I said, we’ll be okay. Arthur made sure of it.”

“I wish he could be here with us,” she sighed. 

“I know. So do I,” John replied. “He wanted us to get out of here and start over somewhere new.”

“Then that’s what we’re going to do,” she said, looking into his eyes. “We’ll make the best of the time we have, John. For Arthur.”

  
  



End file.
